


What If We Could?

by kokuhaku



Series: What If We Could? [1]
Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood Kink, Eventual Smut, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Maybe... ?, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2020-12-16 15:29:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 29,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21038483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kokuhaku/pseuds/kokuhaku
Summary: Sophie meets Arthur and her life changes forever





	1. Girl Meets Boy

**Author's Note:**

> In the original script for the movie, Arthur and Sophie’s relationship was real. Although I prefer her being a fantasy he made up (because I love pain!), I also love the idea of it being real. I changed a lot of details with Sophie, but it’s safe to say this takes place during the events of the film.

Sophie wasn’t the type of person you’d call an optimist. She had been dealt a bad hand at life—several, in fact. The kind of experiences that harden you, that leave an eternally bitter taste in your mouth. Every week or so, she considered ending it all. That’s a lot when you think about it—52 weeks in a year. 52 times she’s stared at her prescriptions, dabbling with the idea of doubling, even tripling, the dosage. 52 times she’s watched not-so-discreet drug exchanges at her job, wondering who would really care if she bought a shit ton of coke and went out with a bang.

Who would miss her? Her daughter didn’t remember her, her mother hated her, her father was dead. The only person who would probably give her a fraction of a thought was the old ex-boyfriend she fucked on occasion. But even then, the thought would be fleeting—they couldn’t stand each other, and he only hit her up for sex—he was sure to move on without a tear in his eye because he always had young impressable things lined up for him.

Back to her question—no one would miss her. And yet, she couldn’t find it in herself to do the deed. So instead, she continued to go through the motions of her miserable but uneventful life, the only thing to look forward to being the bottle of rosé in her fridge, always waiting for her when she returned to her nearly empty, rundown apartment in the late hours. She had just moved in a month ago, but she could hardly afford a bed, let alone a television. All of her money went towards her prescriptions, the occasional Chinese takeout, and alcohol. She didn’t have the time for anything else. Gotta love those unusual work hours.

She didn’t like telling people about her job. Not that she had a social life, but she already had a go-to answer prepared in the rare chance that someone asked. “I’m a bank teller.” Even she didn’t believe herself when she would say it. She highly doubted that whoever asked believed her either, but she never got any pushback, so she kept the lie.

The truth was, she danced for a living. She wasn’t embarrassed by it, but she hated the questions she would get. She hated when they asked for a free dance, a free show, a little something more. She hated all of it. It was already bad enough that she was only half good at the job, so any money she could make, she held onto it.

On a particularly terrible Wednesday, she left work earlier than usual—earlier, meaning 11 PM instead of 2 AM—and walked back home in a defeated stride with two bottles of wine in a brown bag, praying to whatever god that most likely didn’t exist that the elevator wasn’t broken down for the fifth time in the last week and a half so she didn’t have to make the exhausting trek up to the eighth floor.

Opening the metal gates to enter her building, she hears the familiar ding of the elevator door about to close. “Wait, wait! Keep it open!” She runs to the elevator, expecting the door to already be closed because the building is full of assholes who would do something like that, but lets out a surprised sigh of relief at the foot sticking out to let her in. “Thank you,” she mumbles, giving the person a quick glance before getting ready to press the button for her floor. It’s already selected. She glances at him again. She’d seen him a few times before, remembered his face from when she first moved in. It wasn’t the kind of face you forgot, a gaunt look with piercing green eyes. She wouldn’t call him ugly, but he was definitely different.

The unexpected movement of the elevator rumbling snaps her out her thoughts, the already dim lights overhead starting to flicker. The elevator stops. “Fuck,” she says, the back of her head hitting the wall. She drops her bags to the floor. “This building is so awful, isn’t it?”

He almost seems surprised when she speaks to him, his eyebrow raising. She chuckles then, doesn’t he agree? She reaches over to press the help button. No response. Of course. “I could’ve told you that wouldn’t work.” He finally responds to her. All she can give is a half-hearted shrug. “Doesn’t hurt to try.”

The elevator rumbles again, but it’s a false alarm. She groans, looking back at him before sticking up two fingers in the form of a gun to press to her head. Bang. Just end it now. He starts to laugh, a small giggle that erupts into a loud outburst. “Ha. _Ha ha ha ha_!”

Sophie chuckles, more out of confusion because she didn’t find her action to be _that _funny, but she hasn’t made anyone laugh in a while so she can’t help but to smile in response. Seeing her smile makes him smile, and he stops with a cough. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Maybe I should be a comedian or something.”

“I-I actually do stand-up—”

The elevator starts to move, and Sophie reaches for her bags. When they get to their floor, he motions for her to go first and she gives him another smile before walking down the hallway to her door. She sets her purse down, kneeling to dig for her keys.

“Hey.”

She looks up. He’s at the opposite end of the hallway, looking at her.

“What’s your name?”

“Sophie.”

“I’m Arthur. I, uh, I wanted to tell you that I do stand-up comedy—well, I want to be a comedian.”

“Really? How’s that going so far?”

“…I’m getting there.”

She finds her keys, standing to her feet. “Well, let me know if you wanna tell me some jokes sometime. Even though I think I may be funnier than you.”

His grin breaks out into another fit of laughter. He has to be pulling her leg, she knows she’s not funny. He apologizes again. “I’d like that, if you really want to.”

She doesn’t know if she says yes because he’s the only person in the building who spoke to her since she moved in, or because she feels bad for him. Or even feels bad for herself. But something makes her say yes instead of no, and watching him walk over to her so she can scribble her phone number on his hand has her feeling light, the usual heaviness that weighs on her daily disappearing, if only for a few seconds. She hasn’t felt that way in a long time. She wants to feel it again. And if Arthur can give it to her, she’ll take it.


	2. A Phone Call

Arthur doesn’t call the next day. She expected him to, he seemed eager enough. Most of the time she’s sleeping so the hours blur together, and waiting for his call feels longer than usual. In between the time she gave him her number, she didn’t see him in the elevator. 

On the second day, she took a chance, tip toeing to his door although the constant noise in the building undoubtedly overpowered her footsteps. She put her ear to the door, trying not to lean too close so she didn’t fall against it. She could’ve sworn she heard the vague sounds of the television and shuffling feet, but it was probably her mind playing tricks on her.

He calls her on the third day. The high pitch shrill of her landline ringing wakes her from her slumber, an afternoon power nap before her shift later that night. She practically stumbles to the sparsely decorated living room, kneeling to her knees before just settling down on the stained carpet. “H-hello?” Her voice is hoarse.

“Is this Sophie?”

“Arthur?”

“You remember me?”

“Of course. I was starting to think you ditched me for another girl.”

She jumps at the cackle he lets out. “Sorry. I—no. I don’t know any other girls. I don’t know anyone.”

“I don’t either.” She doesn’t know why that makes her smile, but it does. She imagines him smiling on the other end too. “I hope you have some jokes for me.” His end is silent, like he’s trying to decide what to say. “I’m not serious, Arthur. We can just talk.”

“Can I come over?”

“Uh,” Sophie looks around at her sofa-less living room. “I don’t have any furniture in here. My television hardly works. What about your place?”

“My, um, my mother is here. That’s why I took so long to call you. I take care of her.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know any girls.”

“I—” He clears his throat, trying to hold down the laughter. “I’m sorry. She’s sleeping right now. But it’s fine, you can still come.” He pauses. “If you don’t want to—”

“I’ll be over in five minutes.”

Sophie knocks lightly on the door, thinking of his mother and how she didn’t want to wake her. He answers almost instantly. Sophie smirks. “Were you standing here the whole time?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.” He gives her a quick tour, pointing to the kitchen and then the living room. Shabby like hers, but decorated.

“Why do you apologize so much, Arthur?”

“I’m—I don’t, _ha ha ha_!”

Sophie starts to think his laughing is less of a prank, and more of something serious. He clutches his throat, as if the laughter hurts him, before coughing multiple times and stopping. He motions for her to sit down on the sofa; she watches as he takes the recliner next to her and reaches for a pack of cigarettes. “Want one?”

She shakes her head. “I’m trying to quit.” He lights it and takes a long drag. She can’t keep her eyes off him. “Why do you laugh like that?” Her voice is soft, quiet. Not mocking, genuinely curious, and a little worried.

“I have a condition. I laugh at the wrong time and I can’t stop.” He uses his free hand to dig through his pockets, pulls out a laminated card. She reaches over to take it. As she reads it, she feels her heart sink at the last sentence. _It can happen in people with a brain injury or certain neurological conditions_. She looks up at him. He’s looking away from her, eyes on the blank screen of the television. 

She leans forward, gently resting her hand over his. He jumps at the touch, but his eyes finally meet hers. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. It’s good to laugh. Especially since you want to be a comedian, right?” She smiles. When he does too, she pulls away, settling back into the sofa. “Do you do anything else?”

“I’m also a clown for hire. I work at parties, the children’s hospital… I like making kids smile.”

“You seem really sweet. I’m sure you’ll be a great comedian.”

Even in the dim lighting, she can tell he’s blushing. “No one’s ever told me—I, thank you. I’m trying. I have a journal full of jokes and I…” He trails off. “I almost forgot—did you want anything to drink? Coffee, or…”

Sophie shakes her head, observing the dated décor of the living room. Definitely the work of a mother. “I’m fine,” her eyes go to the clock. Almost 6 PM. “I should actually get going soon, I have to go to work.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a bank teller.”

“Aren’t banks usually closed at this time?”

Sophie blinks. Fuck. She didn’t even think about that, her go-to answer failing her for the first time. “You’re right, Arthur. I just lied.”

“Why did you lie?” He seems amused by it, and she almost doesn’t feel bad for doing it. Almost.

“Because, I’m a dancer.”

“Like, on a stage? For men?”

She nods. “For men.”

“Are you good—a good dancer, I mean.”

“I’m not that good, to be honest. I’m surprised they haven’t fired me.”

“You must be doing something right if you’re still there.”

“Maybe. But it doesn’t matter how you dance. If a man sees a pair of tits, he loses his mind.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything. She has a feeling that he isn’t the type to visit strip clubs. But still, she can’t help but to ask. “Have you ever been?”

“Me?” He shakes his head, eyes looking away from her. “Sometimes I work around that area, but I don’t…”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. All these guys go to strip clubs while their wives and kids are sleeping. Hell, they’ll even go right after work. I like that you’re taking care of your mom. Making sick kids smile. Even if you do take a while to call.”

He lights up hearing her say that, and she gets that same feeling from before when he stopped her in the hallway three days ago. Sophie likes being around Arthur, she can’t explain why. But she thinks he feels the same way.

“When do you get off work tomorrow?” 

“Very late.”

“I can wait. I mean, if you want—we can get coffee or something.”

“I’d like that, Arthur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos on the first chapter, I hope you guys are enjoying reading this as much as I love writing it!


	3. Night Shift

Sophie thought about Arthur from the moment she left his apartment. They stood lingering at his front door while working out the details of when to meet tomorrow—he would wait for her at the back exit of her job right after midnight. She would usually spend a few extra hours there trying to scrape as much cash as she could from the few men who strayed in the closing hours, but the pursuit was mostly fruitless, leaving her annoyed and exhausted by the time she clocked out.

“I feel bad, making you come down there so late.” She had told him.

“I don’t mind. I’m always up at that time. I watch Murray Franklin with my mom and then I can’t sleep. Do you like him?”

“I don’t watch much television.”

“He’s great. He’s so funny. I’ve watched him for years. Maybe we could…watch an episode together? I have a bunch of VHS tapes saved.” His excitement was so infectious, she couldn’t imagine saying no to him. She leaned against his door frame and nodded.

“Pick your favorite episode and I’ll come over.”

She didn’t want to go, but she had to. He watched her as she walked down the hall to her door, and she waved goodbye before going inside. She wondered if he was still standing there even after she closed the door.

Her job is on the main street right in the dirty heart of downtown Gotham. Hookers, drug dealers, after school kids up to no good, cheating businessmen, they all walk the same streets. The mayoral election is coming up, but Sophie doesn’t trust the sugarcoated words of politicians. She’s lived in Gotham her whole life, and not one politician came through on a single promise made during the campaign trail. All fluff and bullshit, trying to get votes.

Gotham has only gotten worse as she’s gotten older. The streets covered in trash, the buildings decaying faster, crime continues to rise. The city is a never-ending shitshow. And yet, it’s paralyzed her. She can’t leave. Even when she had the chance to, she didn’t take it. Her mother called her stupid for it. For once, Sophie agreed with her. She was stupid. Now she’s stuck. She tries not to think about her mother because she’ll ultimately end up thinking about Gigi. Her little girl, she never knew her.

It’s for the best, she convinces herself. Her mother sure as hell has, Sophie knows for a fact that she’s happy that her fuck-up daughter is gone, now she can raise her grandchild in a better upbringing. _Well, mom, if you didn’t treat me like trash while we lived in poverty maybe I wouldn’t be in this situation_. Sophie pushes the thought away. She can’t fall down that hole again.

There are better things to think about. Like Arthur. Even she’s embarrassed to admit how her encounters with him have been ingrained in her mind. She’s just been so accustomed to ignoring everybody because they’re all so awful that his awkward, yet kind demeanor has left a lasting impression on her. It’s strange; she doesn’t necessarily have a type but if she did, she wouldn’t have expected him to be on the list. He’s so lanky, skinnier than her. She can’t guess how old he is because his weight—or lack of—ages him, but she doubts he’s that old. She thinks back to their phone conversation—_I don’t know any other girls. I don’t know anyone. _Does he avoid them on purpose? Or do they avoid him?

Sophie feels sad for him, but she doesn’t know why. Most of her feelings about him can be described that way—every time she asks herself _why?_, she can’t answer it. She doesn’t think it’s a crush, or maybe it is. She likes how nice he seems; she likes the kindness in his voice. Past the initial weird aura about him, there’s something else, sweeter. At least that’s what she thinks.

She’s thankful that her shift moves by quickly. The club is busy, so she has more to do instead of trying to convince one of three men for a private session so she can get a few more dollars. She’s always been a shy girl growing up, so the fact that she gets paid to strip naked is still jarring to her. She has her regulars but at the end of the day, no one knows who she is. She’s grown up in this city and yet she hasn’t made a single mark, she’s just another anonymous face going through the motions of life until death inevitably hits.

But even then, she can’t escape unwanted attention. Every girl at the club has one, a man who won’t leave them alone. She wouldn’t go as far as saying he’s a stalker, but every time she sees him, she wishes she never did. She doesn’t know his name, but she can tell he’s well paid. His suits are always new, tailored. He comes in with his friends sometimes. They’re loud and obnoxious, always drunk.

With how much he comes to the club, she wonders how often he’s even at work. It doesn’t surprise her, though. The rich can get away with anything because they’re rich. And as much as she doesn’t like him, he tips well. So she has to pretend to be nice for his money, but in exchange, she’s become his preferred girl.

“C’mon, babydoll. Give me another dance. Hang out with me and my boys.” He’s practically slurring his words. It takes everything in her not to roll her eyes at his nickname for her. She gives him a big, bright, fake smile. 

“Sorry, love. I have to go. I’ll see you next time.”

He loves to get lap dances from her, this night no different. His session is over and it’s already past midnight, it’s time for her to go. She slides off his lap, getting ready to walk away when he grabs her arm. Her smile disappears into a frown. “Stay a bit longer.” She’s tempted to say something like _fuck you asshole_, but she needs this job. “Be fair to the other girls, they wanna see you too.” She snatches her arm away and speed walks to the dressing room, half praying that he wouldn’t get up and try grabbing her again, half hoping he would so she could say fuck the consequences and punch him. He doesn’t.

As promised, Arthur is waiting at the backdoor of the club when she walks out. He’s smoking a cigarette, one of multiple she notices as her eyes dart to the ground where several stubs surround his feet. He smiles when he sees her, and she can already feel her shit mood getting better. 

“How long were you waiting?”

“Not long. Well…I got here a little early so I…” He flicks the cigarette away.

“You should’ve come in.”

“No, I—ha. _Ha ha_!” He clears his throat. “It was fine, really.”

“If you say so.” She brushes her shoulder against his. He’s hesitant at first, but does the same, and they leave the alley together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was getting long so if it felt like it ended abruptly, it's because I was looking for a good spot to stop at. That being said, Chapter Four should be up pretty soon! Thanks for reading :)


	4. Coffee and Bruises

They walk to a nearby diner, one of those 24-hour places perfect to sober up at after a night of drinking. They pick a booth towards the back, not that it was crowded to begin with. But it’s far away enough that it feels personal. She didn’t notice under the streetlights, but as she sits across from him, she spots a little bruising underneath his eye that wasn’t there yesterday.

“Arthur, what happened to your eye?” His hand shoots to his face as soon as she asks it, and he looks away. She presses on. “Did someone hurt you?” 

“I was…jumped earlier today by some kids.”

“What—”

She’s interrupted by the waitress now at their booth, asking if they’re ready to order.

“Coffee. Two please.” Sophie says, not even looking at her. She waits for her to walk away. “Are you okay? Do you—”

“I’ll be fine. It’s just bruises. They took my sign when I was working, and I ran after them… I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, they shouldn’t have hurt you. Those little shits. I can’t believe they did that to you.”

Arthur doesn’t respond. She has a feeling this isn’t the first time he’s gotten beat up. The waitress returns with their coffee and they sit in silence, Arthur drinking his black while Sophie adds too much sugar. She wishes she knew what to say to him, but thankfully, he speaks.

“How was work?”

Not the question she was hoping for. “It was alright for the most part, until this rich asshole grabbed me at the end of my shift.” He starts to say something, but she stops him. “You don’t have to ask if I’m okay. I am. I’m used to it, working there. I just hate that these guys think they can do anything. But they hide behind money, so…who’s going to stop them? They walk over everyone.” 

“I saw a homeless man dead on the sidewalk once.” Sophie raises her eyebrows, wondering where he’s going with this. “Everyone was just, walking over him. Like he didn’t exist. I don’t want to die like that, with people stepping over me.” He lights a cigarette. “I want them to see me.”

“Is that why you want to be a comedian? So people can see you?”

He nods. “Yes. My mom says my purpose is to bring laughter and joy into the world. I try to do that every day.”

There’s a sadness in his voice that breaks her heart. The same kind of pity she felt yesterday reading the card about his condition. She hardly knows him, but she hates that he’s suffering like this. And she thought her life was shit.

“Well, you’ve made me laugh a lot since we’ve met. You’ve made me smile a lot too.”

“Do you like me?” 

“Well, I…” She’s surprised at how direct his question is, but she might as well be honest. “Yeah. I do like you, Arthur. Do you like me?

He grins so wide that she thinks he’s going to start laughing. He doesn’t. “I like you a lot. I think you’re very pretty. For once, I’m glad that the elevator stopped working.” That makes her laugh and he joins in, a bit delayed but it doesn’t matter. She understands why. 

After paying the bill, they walk back home closer than before, shoulders bumping more than often. The night is cold so she has her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket, but she wouldn’t have complained if he asked to hold it. She doesn’t push him; he’s awkward and timid but there’s still a boldness in him that comes out unexpectedly.

When they pass by the pharmacy, he stops abruptly. “Oh—I have to pick something up. Can you wait here?”

She nods, and watches as he walks into the store. Through the glass, she sees him go to the back. She’s all too familiar with that walk; he’s picking up a prescription. She stares ahead when she catches him turning around, looking back at him when he returns. He’s shoving the brown bag in his coat pocket. 

When they start walking again, she decides to speak up. “I take pills too,” she looks to him, but he doesn’t say anything. “Antidepressants, mostly. I’m on one now and I, I guess it’s working but I don't really know. Maybe. What about you?”

“I’m…on seven different medications.” She couldn’t hide the surprise on her face even if she tried. But she nods for him to continue. “I just, I want to feel something. Anything. Anything but negativity.”

Without thinking, she stops him, pressing her lips to his. An erratic, brief action prompted by this sudden desire for him not to be sad. She pulls away quickly, her fingers moving to her lips like she made a mistake. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I don’t know what I was—”

He kisses her back, grabbing her waist awkwardly, as if he’s never held a girl before. He likely hasn’t. Her arms wrap around his neck and she smiles against his trembling mouth. He’s definitely never done this. But she doesn’t stop it, she lets him kiss her as long as he wants. His fingers are practically digging into her waist when he finally breaks away, his breath heavy and uneven. All she can do is stare at him, biting her lip to stop herself from grinning.

They probably would’ve stayed in each other’s arms if it didn’t start raining. The first few droplets quickly turned into a downpour, even running the short distance back to their building left them drenched by the time they reached the elevator. They stood at opposite ends, looking at each other with a newfound urgency. If the elevator stopped, she wouldn’t have complained.

When they get to their floor, they walk slowly out, lingering near each other because they don’t want to separate. “Do you…want to come over?” Sophie asks him. “I don’t have a lot, but I can get us some towels at least.” 

“Yes—wait, I have to check on my mother. I’ll be right back.”

Before she can say _okay_, he kisses her again before rushing to his door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As soon as I finished writing this chapter, I instantly disregarded the slow burn tag like lmaoooo x


	5. First Time

Sophie doesn’t know how much time she has, but she gives herself five minutes. Not that she has anything to clean up, it's just that no one has ever been to her apartment. She runs to the bathroom to grab a bunch of towels and sets them down on the kitchen counter. Her heart is beating fast, so fast that she considers splashing water on her face to calm down. Instead, she dries herself off the best she can.

She jumps at the sound of a knock on her door. Arthur smiles at her as she opens it, his hair still dripping wet. “Everything’s fine with your mom?” She asks him.

“Yeah, she was already sleeping.”

“I have the towels in here,” he closes the door and follows her into the kitchen. She hands one to him and he dries off his hair. She leans against the counter, watching him. She knows what comes next, or, what’s supposed to come next. But Arthur is so different; she could tell he was nervous just kissing her.

“I have wine, do you want some?”

“Sure,” he says. “I’d like that.”

He moves out of the way so she can open the fridge, two unopened bottles staring back at her. She takes one. “You can grab some glasses in the cabinet, they’re right behind you.” She twists the cap open over the sink to avoid any spillage. He holds the two glasses in his hands and she pours a little less than halfway for them. She can’t guess if he drinks, but she has a feeling that he’s a lightweight. They give each other a silent toast. He sips at the wine while she has to stop herself from downing it all at once.

He’s leaning closer to her, like he wants to kiss her. She sets the glass down and he does the same, his hand trailing down to grab hers. She closes her eyes, feeling his lips on hers again and it takes everything in her not to let out a faint moan. When he breaks the kiss, she opens her eyes. “Arthur, have you ever…” she trails off, not knowing how to approach the question. But he knows what she means. His hesitation answering tells her everything.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to say it.”

“Do…you still like me?”

“Of course I do. I just, I don’t want you to feel like you have to do—”

“I want to. I want you.”

A sigh escapes her lips when she hears him say those words. She’s heard them before, from ex-boyfriends and various men at her job. But the meaning is empty coming from them. She believes Arthur when he tells her. She takes his hand, leading him to her bedroom.

Her room only has a floor lamp, one dresser and two mattresses stacked on top of each other to make up for lack of a bedframe. “Sit down,” she tells him and he listens, sitting at the edge of the bed. She can already see his erection straining against his pants. “Do you want a lap dance?” He nods, speechless.

She strips down in front of men nearly every day, the process routine to the point of feeling mechanical. But she takes her time for Arthur, eyes locked with his as she goes down each button of her dress, as she unfastens her bra and dangles it with her finger. She drops it and places her hands on his thighs; they haven’t stopped shaking since he sat down. She runs her hands back and forth, his breath hitching every time she gets close to his crotch. 

Turning around so her back is against his chest, she sits on his lap, her hips moving in a rhythm that just brushes against him. She lets her head fall back so its resting on his shoulder. He can’t stop trembling, his hands gripping the sheets. By how uneven his breathing is, she can tell he won’t last much longer.

Sophie stands up, facing him. He’s already started unbuttoning his shirt. “Lie down.” His back hits the bed and she unzips his pants, pulling them down along with his underwear. She discards her own and climbs on top of him. He’s so hard, more than ready. Their eyes never leave each other when she guides him into her, slowly, his low groan mixing in with her sigh of relief. He grabs her hips and she rides him, leaning down so she can leave a trail of kisses along his neck.

“Sophie, I—” Whatever he was going to say, he can’t finish it. He can only whine when she presses her hands down on his chest to ride him harder.

“Oh, fuck. Arthur, I didn’t mean to,” she eases off, remembering the bruises he told her about. She kisses him again as a sorry, mind too unfocused to let out a proper apology.

She holds his face in her hands, leaving soft pecks everywhere, lingering a little longer on the bruising below his eye. Anything to make him forget the negativity, even if it’s limited. His grip on her hips gets tighter, his breathing short, almost gasping. He’s close. Sophie kisses him harder, coaxing his mouth open with her tongue. 

“I’m, I—” His voice cracks as he moans into her mouth, coming inside her. Hearing the lust and desperation in his tone pushes her to come with him, and she lets out a little cry, just barely whispering his name. He bucks his hips against hers even after, his whole body shaking. Sophie rests her forehead on his, staring into those wide green eyes of his. Wide green eyes only focused on her.

“Did you like that?” She asks him, breathless against his lips. 

For the second time he’s speechless, only nodding in response. When she rolls off of him to lie on her back, he finally moves to dig through his pants for a cigarette. He lies down next to her, silent as he takes a drag. “Pass it over?” She asks him.

“I thought you wanted to quit.” Of course his words come back with snark. But he passes the cigarette to her, and they share it between still catching their breath. 

“I really like you, Sophie.”

“I really like you, too.” She turns on her side, her hand resting against her head. 

Her eyes go to his chest, the bruises visible for the first time for her to see. Her fingers lightly graze the purplish-blue marks making his already fragile body look even more broken. She hates seeing the bruises, seeing his body in this state. “I’m sorry, Arthur.”

He doesn’t respond, cigarette lazily on his lips. He looks to be lost in thought, too distracted to notice what she said. Or maybe he doesn’t want to say anything about it. “Do you want me to stay?” He asks instead, changing the subject. 

“I don’t mind.” She continues to lightly run her fingers over his skin, at least until the gradual urge to sleep starts to overtake her. She doesn’t know if he falls asleep before her but the last thing she remembers is keeping her hand on his chest, his heartbeat a soft rhythm in her palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What about that ending huh..........! As usual, thanks for the kudos and subs and comments <3


	6. Broken Promise

Arthur is still next to Sophie when she wakes up. She’s used to guys leaving right after sex, a one and done kind of thing, no need to share uncomfortable space the next morning for something that will never progress. But Arthur isn’t like those guys. She doesn’t want him to be a one-time thing. She scoots closer to him, and he lets out a little sigh before turning his head to face her.

“Hi, Sophie.” His morning voice is breathless.

“Good morning, Arthur.” Their faces are close, so close that their noses are almost touching. “Did you sleep okay?”

“The best sleep I’ve had in a long time.” 

She smiles when he says that. These moments with him have made her forget about this dump she lives in, her dead-end job, her inability to leave Gotham. Her strained relationship with her mother, not knowing her daughter, none of it matters when she’s with him. She’s never felt this way, not even in the best moments with her ex-boyfriends. And with every kiss he gives her, she forgets again and again and again.

“Can I use your bathroom?” He whispers against her lips and she nods.

She watches him as he slides out of bed, bending over to pull his pants up. She doesn’t want to get out of bed, but she has to, looking around the rummage of clothing for her knit robe. As she shrugs it on, she catches a brown notebook peeking out from under Arthur’s shirt. Curiosity gets the best of her and she picks it up, wondering if it’s his joke diary.

She flips to a random page and his crudely written words stare back at her, her eyes going to the one bolded sentence towards the bottom: _I just hope my death makes more cents than my life. _She quickly flips away, as if shocked by this revelation of his most private thoughts, and lands on a page on with a magazine cutout of a naked woman taped to the paper. She closes the book altogether at that point, not knowing why she even decided to open it in the first place. She drops it back to the floor right when Arthur opens the door to walk out the bathroom. 

He sits at the edge of the bed and she joins him. “I didn’t want last night to end.” He doesn’t look at her, eyes focused on his hands. “I’d like to see you again, if you want.”

“Whenever you want to see me, you can.” She places her hand over his. 

“Tonight?” He asks meekly, as if he’s pushing his luck.

“If you don’t mind waiting again.”

“I’d wait forever for you.”

She doesn’t know what to say. This awkward, introverted guy, making her feel this way. Sometimes he says things that aren’t in line with his personality at all. But then again, does she _really_ know his personality? He leans over to her to kiss her neck, and her eyes gaze to the floor, focusing on his notebook. He’s troubled, she already knew that, but just how much?

“I should probably get going,” he breaks away with a deep sigh. “I’ll be at the children’s hospital today. I’m always happy when they ask me to come back.” 

He reaches to get his shirt, folding his notebook in half before shoving it in his pocket. “Is that your joke diary?” She asks innocently. “You still haven’t told me any.”

“Actually, I have a gig coming up soon,” he gives her a wide grin, buttoning up his shirt. “It’s at Pogo’s. I wanted to ask if you could make it. My mom is too sick to leave the apartment and I didn’t know anyone else, until I met you.”

“I can do that.” 

She walks him to the front door when he’s dressed. “Please come in the club to wait. Okay?” She hopes she doesn’t sound too desperate, too worried. She would rather him wait inside instead of outside in a dark alley past midnight. The sight of every bruise on him is still ingrained in her memory, and she doesn’t want that to happen again. Especially waiting for her. She wouldn’t be able to handle the guilt.

“I told you, I was fine last night. Really.” She starts to say something, but he continues. “But I will for you. Promise.”

“It’s not that bad in there. You can’t tell me you’re afraid to see a few naked ladies after last night.” 

“Well, I—Ha. Ha. _Ha ha_!” He clears his throat. “Yeah. I’ll see you tonight.”

Arthur hesitates before kissing her goodbye. She smiles at him and leans out of the door frame, watching him walk to his door. He turns around and stops, contemplating coming back over to her. “I’m sorry,” Sophie smirks. “I’ll see you soon.”

She doesn’t realize how fast her heart is beating until she presses her hand to her chest after closing the door. The opened bottle of wine from last night is still in the kitchen, flavor likely lost from sitting out for hours, but she still takes a swig. Everything leading up to now almost feels unreal. This intimacy she shared with Arthur, unlike anything she’s ever had with another man, and yet he’s still a mystery to her.

_I just hope my death makes more cents than my life. _That bolded sentence, she couldn’t get it out of her head since seeing it in his journal. It wasn’t her place to look, but something got into her, the need to know more about him. How would he react if she told him she’s thought about killing herself too? Maybe he’ll open up, like he did when she told him she’s on medication. Or not. She thinks back to just a few hours ago, her fingers dancing on his bruised skin, his lack of response when she tried to talk to him about it. He didn’t seem embarrassed, maybe distant. She takes another drink from the bottle. She simply can’t figure him out.

Her shift goes by slow, too slow for what she wants—to see him again. Her not-so-favorite customer hasn’t made an appearance, which is strange, but she doesn’t complain. Despite the pay, it’s one less asshole to deal with. Her eyes occasionally glance to the entrance, waiting for the moment that Arthur walks in. She can already see it; he’ll be so nervous, probably fidgeting with his hands or smoking a cigarette. She hopes he sees her under all these neon lights. Will he look at her like he looks at that nude woman in his journal?

She guesses most would be upset by that, but given her profession, Sophie thinks it’s only expected. Playboy, X-rated theaters, hookers. Gotham is a dirty, lust-filled hellhole with never-ending crime. Arthur is just a product of it, much like her. These sleazy businessmen who see her every night behind closed doors would never be caught dead on the street with her, says a lot about them. But Arthur... 

She thinks about their kiss in the rain. He definitely would.

The closer it gets to the end of her shift, the more impatient she becomes, occasional glances becoming often, and still no sight of him. By the time she clocks out, she finally realizes that he broke the promise. She can’t help but to laugh at herself, of course he wouldn’t come in. He’s terrified. She starts to the back exit, thinking of all the ways she can poke fun at him.

“Arthur, you really broke our—”

No one’s there. Sophie checks the ground for any sign of cigarette stubs, but there’s nothing. Just garbage on top of garbage. She stands waiting, rationalizing, maybe he’s running late. But as the minutes go on well past midnight, she’s struck with another realization: he’s not coming. She crosses and uncrosses her arms; part of her wants to stay, but she feels silly waiting even longer. He would’ve shown up by now. Once again, her mind can’t stop racing. Confusion, slight irritation, but mostly worry. Where is he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks SO much for all the kudos and comments, I'm so happy people are enjoying this because I love writing it! Next chapter tomorrow!


	7. A Painted Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt a little bad ending the last chapter on a cliffhanger though I'm sure you guys already know what's coming next.....hahaha x

What if something happened to him? She can’t stop thinking it. If he’s prone to getting attacked, he could’ve easily been targeted. The thought of him being hurt stresses her out so much that she almost misses her stop. She walks home in a daze, hoping to see him in the window of the pharmacy, in the lobby of their building, in the elevator, in the hallway. He’s not there. She stares at his door, inching closer to it, hand balled into a fist ready to knock. 

But she can’t do it. What if his mother answers, what if she doesn’t know where he is either? She doesn’t want to confront her. As soon as she gets home, she goes to the kitchen, mind set on the last bottle of rosé in her fridge.

After taking a shower with the door open—to hear in case he calls—she sits in front of her television, checking the news for something. Anything. There’s nothing except for updates on the city’s garbage strike. She’s on her second glass of wine and staring absentmindedly at reruns of an old show when there’s several knocks on her door. She jumps at the noise, carefully setting the glass down in her already tipsy state before standing up.

A painted face in the form of a clown greets her as she opens the door and before she can say anything, he’s holding her face in his hands, his lips pressed roughly on hers. Although her response is delayed, she knows it’s Arthur. But something feels off. All she can do is close the door, and he pushes her against the wall, kissing her so hard that she whines. Something is definitely off. She runs her fingers through his hair, trying to break the kiss for just a second to ask him what happened. His lips leave hers, but only to move to her neck.

He’s pressing his body closer to hers, so close that she can feel how hard he is against her. The only thing she can think about is how off this is, even if she can’t pinpoint what exactly it is. She feels weird, her body feels weird, something tastes weird. It isn’t until she licks her lips that she realizes the steel taste in her mouth isn’t from the paint, but from blood. Sophie feels his hands at her robe, trying to untie it.

“Wait, Arthur—please stop.”

“I need you, Sophie.”

“But I—I taste blood. What happened?”

He looks at her and that’s when she finally sees it. His clown makeup is smudged but the blood coming from his nose and trailing down to his chin is very clear. “I had a bad day.” She expects him to go into a laughing fit, but he doesn’t. He just smiles at her.

“Did someone hurt you again? Talk to—” His mouth is back on her, planting kisses over her chest after opening her robe. She should tell him to stop, should demand that he tell her what happened. But when she feels his hand pulling down her underwear, she stops thinking about it. Maybe the wine clouding her rational mind has something to do with it too, but in that moment, she needs him as much as he needs her.

They end up in the kitchen, Arthur lifting her up so she’s sitting on the counter. She’s so confused. She feels like she’s in the room with a completely different man from last night. His timid demeanor, hesitance to kiss her, all gone. He touches her body with confidence as he pulls her hips closer to his, spreading her legs apart. Was him being a virgin some kind of elaborate joke? She stares at the ceiling when she hears him unzip his pants, trying to make sense of if she’s dreaming. But the moment she feels him inside her, she knows she’s not.

“Oh, god.” She wraps her legs around his waist, arching her back for him.

He kisses her again, the taste of his blood mixing in with the faint aftertaste of rosé. She’s never been fucked like this before. She went slow for him last night, wanting him to enjoy every moment for the first time. But this is rough, it’s hard, it’s quick. Like he needs to get it out of his system. Even his moans are different from last night, they’re deeper, almost like a growl. 

“I—” Sophie starts to say something, but stops herself. She can’t even remember what it was. His mouth goes to her neck, sucking on the skin so hard that she’s almost certain he’s biting her. She grabs his hair, fingers curling tight around his scalp. That all too familiar sensation starts to take over, and her legs tremble, struggling to stay wrapped around his waist.

She lets out an embarrassingly loud moan when it finally hits, like it’s _her_ first time. He starts to laugh, a low chuckle as if he’s amused by the whole situation. It sounds nothing like his condition. His laughter turns into a long groan when he finishes inside her, his heavy breathing matching hers.

They stay like that for what feels like forever, Sophie resting her head against the cabinet catching her breath while Arthur has his head on her chest. She doesn’t know how much time passes when he finally pulls out, pulling his pants up and walking out of the kitchen. She almost expects him to just leave but instead, he goes to her bedroom. She hears the faint sounds of him lighting a cigarette. 

Sophie slides off the counter, having to steady herself when her feet hit the floor. She walks into the bedroom, not even looking at Arthur, then goes straight to the bathroom and closes the door. When she turns the light on, she has to cover her mouth so he doesn’t hear the gasp she lets out. A combination of white paint and blood smeared on her mouth and across her chest, her neck red from the love bites he left. She can’t believe she’s staring back at her reflection.

She ends up taking another shower. Her skin is free of blood when she looks at herself in the mirror again, but her neck is covered in red marks. “Jesus Christ.” It’s all she can manage to whisper to herself, lightly touching the spot where he bit at the hardest. Arthur is still in her room when she walks out, lying on his back with his hands behind his head. She doesn’t know what to say to him. She sits at the edge of the bed; he looks so at peace despite the dried blood on his face and patterned shirt.

“Arthur,” she says softly. “Can you please tell me what happened. Please.” 

“I was fired.” His voice is casual, too casual for the circumstances. He was looking forward to going back to the children’s hospital just this morning.

She stares at him in disbelief. “Why were you—”

“And I was jumped. Again.” He laughs quietly, like it’s totally normal for him to be fired and attacked in the same day. She doesn’t notice that she’s crying until she instinctively wipes a tear away.

He looks up at her. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” Her voice cracks.

He sits up. “Why are you crying?”

There he goes again, changing the subject. But she sighs. She doesn’t feel like pressing him. “Because I care about you, Arthur.”

Despite the makeup, she can still see the expression in his eyes shift from amused confusion to sadness. He looks away from her. “You shouldn’t.” 

“Why?” 

“Because—ha. _Ha_! No one does.”

She kisses him to stop him from laughing. She doesn’t care that she’s getting his blood on her again, the only thing on her mind is how awful she feels when she can tell that he’s in pain, even if he won’t say it. “Stay with me tonight.”

Arthur nods, and Sophie brings him down to bed with her.


	8. Penny

Arthur isn’t in bed when she wakes. Sophie sits up, leaning over to see if his clothes are on the floor. They’re not. “Arthur?” She calls out, but there’s no answer. Instead of sulking, she forces herself to slide out of bed. It isn’t until she leaves her room that she sees the piece of paper taped to her front door.

_Had to check on mom. Come over. Want you to meet her._

She stares at the torn page. He wants her to meet his mother. She’s never gotten that far with any of her ex-boyfriends, not even the one who got her pregnant. Is Arthur even her boyfriend? She enjoys being around him, likes having sex with him, wants to know more about him. Since he wants this to happen, he has to feel the same way. “Okay Sophie,” she says to herself. “Get it together.” She runs into the bathroom to freshen up.

Sophie knocks on his door half an hour later, mentally crossing her fingers that she isn’t too late. She didn’t know what to wear, so she just went with a dress. Hopefully his mom likes it, considering the dated floral décor in the apartment. Arthur opens the door with a smile. His face is bare, clown makeup gone. “You made it.” He motions for her to come inside. 

“I almost thought you ditched me when I woke up.” She whispers in his ear.

“N-no. I’d never do that to you.” 

It’s strange, Sophie thinks, how he’s back to normal. Normal. Whatever got into him last night was now gone and replaced with his usual awkward self. She can’t understand it. Not that she had an issue with how he was acting last night, it was just jarring seeing him in that state. The aggression, the need, almost like a hunger. 

“Hey, mom,” Arthur calls out, taking Sophie’s hand. He’s already trembling. “She’s here.”

He leads her into the living room. His mother is sitting in the same recliner he sat at when Sophie first came over. She’s small, the same kind of fragile as her son but amplified. “This is Sophie, the girl I was telling you about. I’ve been on a few dates with her and she…”

Sophie reaches her hand out to shake hers. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Arthur’s girlfriend.”

Arthur stares at her when she says it. His mother perks up. “Happy? Your girlfriend? You’ve never had a girlfriend before.” 

“Mom—ha. Ha ha. _Ha ha ha_!” When he stops, he mutters a _sorry_, before asking Sophie to sit down. He goes into the kitchen.

“I didn’t get your name—” 

“Penny.” She smiles. “I never thought I’d see the day. Happy’s always been so quiet, he’s never talked to anyone.”

“He’s very nice. I like him a lot.” Sophie hears the familiar rattling of pill bottles and she turns to the kitchen. Arthur walks back out and sits next to her.

“He’s so good to me,” Penny goes on. “I know he’ll be good to you.”

Sophie notices Arthur’s leg shaking, and she puts her hand on his thigh. He gives her an embarrassed smile before reaching to the coffee table for a cigarette. He’s so nervous; she must be the first person he knows who’s ever met his mother. She’s been his first for a lot. She never anticipated this; everything that happened between them has been so personal, intense.

“Oh, Happy, turn the TV up! They’re talking about those murders again.” 

Sophie looks to the television as the volume rises. Her usual dismissive attitude at Gotham’s regular reporting of crime quickly changes when three photos of the victims show up on the screen. “Oh my god.” She says. She can feel Arthur looking at her, but she doesn’t turn to him. Her eyes are glued to the screen.

“_Three Wayne Investments businessmen were gunned down last night…a key eyewitness told police that the suspect was wearing a clown mask…”_

Her not-so-favorite customer and his friends. Shot. Killed. On the subway last night. That explains why they didn’t show up at the club. But even then, she can’t process it. She didn’t like them, but they were just here a moment ago. Now they’re gone. 

“Is everything alright?” She jumps at the sound of Arthur’s voice in her ear.

“Can I—can I get a glass of water?”

Arthur nods, standing up to go to the kitchen. She follows him. He hands her the glass and she downs it like it’s alcohol. She wishes it was. “I knew those guys, Arthur. The men who were shot.”

His eyes widen, and for a second he turns away. He turns back to her. “What do you mean?”

“They’re the rich assholes I told you about. I mean, they _were_…”

“Are you sad?” He moves closer to her. She shakes her head.

“No—I mean, I didn’t like them but…it’s weird. I just saw them the other night...” She looks down at the empty glass in her hands. “I’m not going to mourn them. They were awful. I’ve just never known anyone who’s been killed before.”

He kisses her, sudden and unexpected. She sets the glass down to stop herself from dropping it to the floor. “They got what they deserved.”

Before she can respond, Penny’s frail voice interrupts. “Happy? I want to lie down.”

“Fuck,” He whispers against Sophie’s lips. “I’ll be right there, mom!” He looks at her. “Don’t move.”

Sophie nods, listening to the sounds of Arthur helping his mother walk to the bedroom. “Where’d your girlfriend go? She’s so sweet.”

“She’s just getting a drink of water, mom.”

“You be good to her, Happy. Your first girlfriend ever…” 

Sophie can’t help but to smile at that. She’s sure Arthur finds it embarrassing, but it’s both endearing and surprising to her, knowing that meeting her has essentially changed his life. But even more shocking is that meeting him has changed hers. It actually terrifies her, falling for him like this. She doesn’t know where it’s going to go, but she doesn’t want it to end.

“Hey,” Arthur leans against the wall. “Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s fine. She’s really sweet, I see where you get it from. Thanks for letting me meet her.”

“Yeah, I…it’s nothing.” He clears his throat. “But, um, I wanted to tell you. Pogo’s got back to me. I got a slot tonight. I know it’s last minute, but…”

“I’ll be there.” 

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to skip work—”

“I don’t wanna go to work, Arthur. Especially after… I’ll call out sick. It’ll be fine.”

“I have to get some things from my job—I mean, my old job—then meet with my therapist, but I’ll see you there tonight?”

She steps closer, taking his hand in hers. “I’ll see you there. You’ll do great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t thank you guys enough for all the kudos and comments. I love all the feedback I'm getting!


	9. Pogo's

Sophie has never been to a comedy club, let alone any kind of club aside from her job, so she’s surprised when she walks into Pogo’s with 30 minutes to spare before Arthur’s act and the place is packed. Tables full of laughing guests surround the stage and she has to awkwardly navigate finding a seat before settling in a far corner. She hopes Arthur can see her. A waitress approaches her and she orders a beer.

She doesn’t pay much attention to whoever’s on the stage at the moment, only catching something about men paying for sex. Her nerves are high; she just wants Arthur to do a good job. If she had an idea of what any of his jokes were like, maybe she wouldn’t be so anxious, but she didn’t want to pressure him into telling her. She’s no artist, but she knows they all work differently.

When the crowd applauses the man on stage, she finally looks up from her drink. The host shakes his hand and takes the mic. “This next comic describes himself as a lifelong Gotham resident who from a young age was always told that ‘his purpose in life was to bring laughter and joy into this cold, dark world.’ Umm. Okay.” The crowd laughs. 

Sophie sits up. That’s Arthur. “Please help me welcome Arthur Fleck!”

Arthur walks out, heading to the stage. She leans forward, wanting to call his name but not knowing if it’s appropriate. When he turns his head, he sees her, a smile forming on his lips. She gives him a little wave, smiling back. He almost trips walking up the steps, but everything seems fine. Until he opens his mouth to speak and only laughter comes out.

“Oh no,” Sophie says to herself. “No.”

“I—I always hated school as a kid, but—” He kneels over, turning away from the mic stand and cackling so hard that he’s grabbing his throat. She’s half standing, wanting to do something. Anything. But she doesn’t know what. He tries to compose himself, facing the crowd again.

“But my mother would always say, ‘You should enjoy it. One day you’ll have to work for a living.’” Every time he stops to laugh, her heart breaks more. The audience doesn’t react, only stares at him in an awkward, uncomfortable silence. “No I won’t, Ma. I’m gonna be a comedian!” More laughter from him. More silence from the audience. He takes out his notebook, flipping through the pages for another joke. Sophie looks away.

She just wants it to be over.

After his act ends, Sophie leaves to wait for him outside of the club. She feels terrible, for him, for his condition. She would’ve expected the audience to laugh at him but somehow them not reacting at all made it worse. She’s still mentally kicking herself, wishing she did something. Run on the stage, take him off, anything to end it. Although doing that likely would've made things worse, she still feels guilty. Now the only thing she can think about is all the ways to apologize to him. The door opens and Arthur walks to her with a huge smile, gently holding her face in his hands to kiss her. His elated action surprises her. “How was I?”

“Y-you were great.” She hopes the underlying sadness in her voice doesn’t betray her forced optimism.

“Thank you.” He kisses her again and she just closes her eyes, silently accepting his reaction. If he’s happy, then she’ll be happy. They don’t have to talk about it.

They walk hand in hand down the main street, saying nothing to each other. She looks at him—he seems content, as if everything at the club didn’t happen. This wasn’t what she was expecting, for him to be so satisfied with something that went so awful. It’s strange to her, but she guesses she rather him see the positive side instead of the negative. Maybe she should try doing the same thing.

“Hey,” he starts. “I wanted to ask you. Did you mean what you said earlier today? About…you being my girlfriend?”

“Why would I lie?” She asks. “Unless, you don’t want me to be your girlfriend.”

“No—ha. _Ha_! No. I want that. A lot.”

“So we’re together then.”

He stops them, a sincere expression on his face. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“You don’t really mean that.”

“But you are, Sophie. All my life, no one has noticed me. No one has seen me. Until I met you.”

Sophie starts to say something but stops herself from speaking too quickly, emotions already high enough to make her cry. Hearing him say _that _makes her want to cry. No one has ever felt this way about her. She didn't think it was possible. “Arthur,” she finally says. “I—”

“Fuck the rich!”

Sophie screams. A small group of people wearing clown masks run past them, chanting loudly. “What the fuck,” Her voice is shaking. “What the fuck was that?”

Arthur’s head is turned, staring after them. He’s not laughing, but she catches a hint of a smile forming on his lips. He finally focuses on her when they’re out of sight. “When I was out earlier, I heard some people talking… I think they’re on his side, the guy who shot those men.” 

Sophie doesn’t know what to say. On _his _side? She would never condone murder, but at the same time, those men weren’t exactly upstanding citizens. She didn’t like thinking about it. She was usually good at blocking out all of Gotham’s problems, but this one in particular won’t leave her alone. She starts walking again, arms tightly crossed. “Can we talk about something else?”

He lights a cigarette as he thinks of what to say. “I can’t go to therapy anymore.”

“What? Why?” 

“They cut funding. My last session was today. And...I won’t be able to get medication.” He starts laughing. “I took my last pills today.” 

“Do you want mine?” Arthur looks at her, an eyebrow raised. Sophie isn’t the best at keeping up with her pills, often skipping when she’s supposed to take them and later doubling up. Lately, she’s gotten into the habit of not taking them at all. “I mean, if they’re cutting funding then that means I’m on my last ones too. But it’s…we can split them.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Sophie asks, remembering all seven of his medications. Although she skips days, she’s never had to take that many at once. What’s going to happen to him now? She can’t hide the worry on her face but he just smiles, nodding his head.

“I’m feeling better already.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always so blown away by all the feedback that I get, really, it means so much to me and I truly appreciate it! I'll try to have the next chapter up very soon! :)


	10. Thomas Wayne

“I have to help my mom get to bed, then we’ll go.” Sophie waits in the hallway of Arthur’s apartment as he tip toes to Penny. Although they haven’t exactly said it, there’s a silent agreement between them that he can stay at her place. Sophie caught sight of a pillow and blanket in the living room when she first came over; Arthur must sleep on the couch while his mother has the bedroom. She doesn’t mind him staying over, in fact, she wants him to stay whenever he can. Based on his actions, he feels the same way. 

Arthur glances at television and turns to Sophie, waving her over. “It’s Murray!” He mouths to her. He mimics the same moves as the talk show host, whispering _and always remember, __that’s life_ at the end, right on cue. He starts slow dancing as he gets Penny to stand up, moving her side to side as they walk to the bedroom.

“Happy? Is that you? Are we dancing?” 

“Yes, mom. We’re dancing.” He twirls her around, gently.

“You smell like cologne. Did you go out?”

“Sophie and I had a date tonight.” He looks at her and Sophie smiles, sitting on the couch.

“Oh, that’s good, Happy. I wrote another letter to Thomas Wayne. Send it as soon as you can.” She faintly motions to the coffee table; Sophie spots a closed envelope sitting at the edge.

As Arthur and Penny go into the bedroom, she notices that Murray is no longer on the television, the late-night news playing a recap instead. The faces of the three businessmen are on the screen again. She feels her breath instantly hitch in her throat. Leaning over for the remote, she turns the volume up just enough to hear.

_“…these men have been described as upstanding citizens with promising futures, making the news of their untimely deaths even more tragic._”

“Bullshit.” Sophie mutters.

“What is?” Arthur’s back in the living room; he sits next to her.

“The fucking news. Saying they’re upstanding citizens. Yeah, I felt the _same_ way when they had their hands all over me at work after I told them to stop.”

_“Thomas Wayne, who recently announced his run for mayor, was interviewed earlier today after news of the deaths were reported…_”

Arthur perks up, much to her attention. Thomas Wayne appears on the screen. Sophie is less interested in what he has to say and more focused on Arthur’s reactions to the interview, ranging from genuine curiosity when the reporter brings up a possible anti-rich sentiment growing among the working-class community to amusement when Wayne calls the killer a clown. Her eyes trail to the envelope on the coffee table again, then it clicks. 

“Arthur, your mother was talking about writing to _Thomas Wayne_? How does she know him?”

“She, um, she used to work for him. Years ago,” he says, still distracted. “She thinks he’s going to help us if he gets her letter.”

“Do you think he will?”

Arthur looks at her. “No.” He reaches across to grab the envelope, finger gliding around the edges before opening it. As he reads the letter, his expression becomes unreadable. He suddenly stands up.

“What’s wrong?”

“He—Thomas—ha. _Ha ha ha_!” He’s gripping the letter so tightly that she’s worried he might rip it. 

“Arthur, let me see it. Please.” He shoves the letter at her between his laughter and she takes it.

_Your son and I need your help. _The underlined words feel like a gut punch to Sophie; she can’t begin to imagine how it feels to Arthur. He’s pacing around the living room, every time he gets closer to Penny’s bedroom he lingers a bit longer, like he’s going to explode if he doesn’t say something.

“Maybe we should go—”

“No!” Arthur yells and she stands frozen at his outburst. He knocks on the bedroom door, every tap getting more erratic. “We need to talk about this letter, mom.” His voice is rising with every word, on the verge of yelling again. 

“Happy? What’s all that noise?” Penny’s voice is muffled behind the door.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Thomas Wayne is my father?”

“Oh, Happy…”

“I need an answer now, mom. Now!” He slams his fists against the door and Sophie jumps. She’s never seen him like this, and she’s afraid to approach him. Arthur and Penny start yelling back and forth and suddenly she feels very out of place. She doesn’t want to leave him but with every word he screams at Penny, Sophie feels herself inching to the front door. She can’t help him in this state, and for the first time, the reality of his lack of medication sinks in.

She can’t be there anymore.

When Sophie gets back to her apartment, she goes to the fridge. No alcohol. “Fuck…” She mutters to herself, pacing around the kitchen before just settling on a glass of water. She’s considering leaving to go to the 24-hour convenience store around the corner when there’s a knock on the door. It’s soft, faint; she almost missed it, standing in silence to process if she actually heard it. Another knock, just as light.

She opens the door and Arthur is there, he won’t look at her. She doesn’t say anything as she moves to the side, letting him in. For a minute, he’s frozen. Then his eyes finally meet hers. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fi—”

“It’s not. I don’t ever want to make you uncomfortable, and I did.”

Sophie doesn’t respond, instead giving him a hug. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” He's shaking in her arms, she can’t tell if he’s crying or wants to cry. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m going to find him.” He pulls away.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? What if he—” 

“I _have _to. He’s my father. I never thought I’d figure out who my real dad is…he has to see me.”

Sophie finds herself thinking about Gigi as soon as he says that. Would her mother even tell her the truth? Or will she keep it a secret for the rest of her life, leaving Gigi to either figure out on her own or live in a lie? 

“Is everything okay?” Arthur snaps her out of the thought.

“Um…” Sophie doesn’t know what to say. How would he react to knowing she has a kid? How selfish would she be to turn the attention to her now, of all times? This isn’t about her. “It’s nothing. I was just thinking. You do what you think is best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was kind of intense, huh?! Poor Sophur! (my ship name for them hahaha)


	11. Confession

Sophie ends up stepping out to buy alcohol, rationalizing that they could both probably use it when she's the one who really wants it. She suggests that he join her, at least to get some air after everything that happened. “No, I… I think I’ll just take a shower to clear my mind.” He says, sitting on her bed.

She feels so awful for him, this defeated aura plaguing him since he knocked on her door. “Do you need me to get you anything?” She asks and he shakes his head, looking down at his hands. She kisses him on the forehead before leaving, her lips lingering a little longer as if to let him know that she’s there for him.

When she gets to the convenience store, she stocks up on whatever else she can find—microwaveable food, instant noodles, sweets. She hardly goes to the grocery store because of her unusual work hours, so she buys whatever she’s in the mood for at any given time. Her diet is shit, but she’s more concerned about Arthur’s lack of one. If she had an ounce of cooking skill, maybe she could make something for them. But she doesn’t even have a table in her apartment. She usually tries not to dwell on things that she can't control, but with Arthur, she finds herself fantasizing. What if she could do this for him, what if she could do that. She's sure he appreciates whatever she can do, but it's not enough to her.

A newspaper featuring a clown mask on the cover catches her attention when she’s at the cashier. _Killer Clown On The Loose? _The smile on the mask looks like something out of a horror movie, sharp teeth grinning ominously back at her. A sense of unease creeps up on her the longer she stares at it. 

“You looking at that?” The cashier says and Sophie turns away to face him. He chuckles. “It’s about time somebody did something about these fucking one percenters in this city. I might just start selling those masks, too.” 

All she can muster in herself to do is nod.

The apartment is quiet when Sophie returns, only the faint sound of the shower running to let her know that Arthur is in the bathroom. After she puts everything away, she pours herself a glass of wine, listening intently for the moment the water stops. It doesn’t, even after she finishes her drink. She doesn’t want to bother him; maybe being alone is helping him clear his mind like he said before. But despite her attempts at optimism, she doubts that's the case. 

A few minutes later, she’s stepping in the shower with him, careful not to make any noise. At least, she doesn’t think she makes any noise. The wine gave her some liquid courage, but not enough to know if she’s as quiet she believes. His back is hunched, water spraying on his head with his hand pressed against the tile. No, she thinks to herself, he isn’t feeling better at all.

She starts to say something, but wraps her arms around him instead, resting her head on his back. She feels his body react slightly, but relax when he realizes it’s her. The water is a tad bit too hot for her, but she doesn’t change it. If Arthur wants it that way, she won’t object. They stand like that for a while, and she even feels herself dozing to a light sleep before he eventually moves to turn the water off. She steps out to get them towels and they end up in her bed, sitting at the edge. He digs through the pockets of his pants for a cigarette.

“Can I make you something to eat? I can’t cook, but I’ll try.” She gives him a sheepish smile, grasping for anything at this point. 

“I’m not hungry.” His voice sounds so small, smaller than usual. 

“Well, let me know, okay? I just want you to be happy.”

That makes him laugh, a raspy chuckle against the cigarette on his lips. “Happy…” She stares at him, wondering if she said something wrong. He picks up on her reaction, and shakes his head with a pained smile. “You know, that’s what my mother calls me. All the time. She says I was born smiling, that I was always happy. Except… I don’t feel it at all. I’m never happy. I feel better with you, but, we’re not always together and I feel myself slipping when I’m not around you.”

“Arthur, I…” she stops herself, speechless. This is the first time he’s opened up to her like this. She figured his attachment to her was strong, but not to this extent. And she knows deep down, she feels the same way too. “I’ll always be with you, Arthur. Even if I’m not there. I’m with you. I’m on your side.” 

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I—” He cuts her off, kissing her. She ends up on her back, Arthur hovering above her after stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the floor. She pulls him down to her, wrapping her arms around his neck as he kisses her again.

Their lips break away for a moment so he can look down, adjusting himself between her legs before looking at her as if he needs her approval. But she nods regardless, grabbing his face. They moan into each other’s mouths as he enters her, Sophie’s hips bucking against him. He moves slowly, the complete opposite of the last time they had sex. This nervous Arthur is back, the one who thinks he’s doing everything wrong when he’s actually doing it right. She missed him, missed savoring every moment, even when he’s uncertain of himself. 

Brown eyes meet green, and they stare at each other, Arthur pressing his forehead against hers. Being this close with him, so intimate, she never wants it to end. She loves it. Sophie doesn’t want to say it, but the way she feels about him, their shared attachment, that must be what it's like to love someone. To forget everything for just a moment and live in an eternal pause. Her life since meeting Arthur has been a series of pauses, nothing else matters when she’s with him. Saying it, admitting it to herself, would only make it real. The thought scares her because she's never felt this way before.

“Am I hurting you?”

She doesn’t understand his question until his fingers graze the skin under her eye, wiping away a tear. She shakes her head, her mind in disbelief for crying at the thought, but that feeling for him becoming even more realized.

“No, I’m just… I’m really happy I'm with you, Arthur.”

Sophie wakes to the familiar smell of his cigarettes. Arthur is lying beside her, blowing smoke to the ceiling. She scoots closer to rest her head on his chest and he wraps his arm around her shoulders. “I’m going to his house today. My dad’s.”

“Do you want me to come?”

“No. I need to do this by myself.” She gives a little nod, knowing that this is beyond her help. “Come by after your shift and I’ll tell you everything?” 

Sophie sits up, her lips so close to his that she can taste the smoke. “Of course I will. Good luck today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter than I'd like but the next one is kinda long so I'll be posting it soon! <3


	12. Hospital

Sophie doesn’t want to go back to work. She’s been dreading the moment from the second Arthur left her apartment, leaving her alone to wallow in her thoughts. She already knows her job knows that the men are dead, and it probably didn’t take long for them to realize that she was the preferred girl of one of them. Combine that with her calling out sick and…she’s not looking forward to the stares and the questions. 

She isn’t close with any of the other dancers, doesn’t have a clique or group like a lot of them do. She mostly keeps to herself, only interacting with them when she has to. Part of it is her fault, with her constant avoidance of social interaction, but it also doesn’t help that they have a reputation to be catty and Sophie just doesn’t feel like dealing with all the unnecessary bullshit. 

Walking into the club before her shift, her suspicions are confirmed when she’s approached by a dancer steps away from the dressing room. She thinks her name is Annie. “Oh Sophie,” she hugs her, and Sophie freezes under the touch. Annie pulls away. “I heard about what happened. It’s so terrible. That guy loved you.”

“Right…” It takes everything in her not to roll her eyes.

“Do you need to talk about it? Me and the girls—”

“No, I’m fine. I just want to get to work.” She walks around her to go to the dressing room.

“Let me know if you do! We’re here for you!”

Sophie goes through the motions of her shift with bare minimum effort. She just doesn’t want to be there, doesn’t have the energy to slide down a pole and kiss the stage with her breasts, doesn’t want to give private sessions to anyone. She doesn’t have the attention for anything. Except Arthur.

They laid in bed as long as they could this morning, Sophie saying nothing as she listened to his heartbeat against her ear while he smoked. He seemed considerably better compared to last night, almost content, accepting that he’s finally going to meet his father. She doesn’t know much about Thomas Wayne aside from the fact that he’s a billionaire running for mayor.

Based on her letter, Penny thinks he’s the kindest man in the city. But even then, Sophie can’t say she agreed with his answers from the interview he gave, calling the working-class clowns? She may be conflicted about the murders, but if he had any clue what it was like to live in the trenches of this city, he would be singing a different tune. He came across as a complete asshole, but hopefully, he’s nice to Arthur. He could really use some positivity.

She’s about halfway through her shift when she spots her manager waving her over, prompting her to leave the stage. “What’s wrong?” Sophie asks. 

“You got a phone call. He says it’s important.”

_He_? That could only mean one person. She runs to the back where the only telephone is past the dressing room and in her manager’s cramped office. “Arthur? Is that you?”

“She’s in the hospital—my mom, she…”

“What? What happened?”

“She had a stroke.”

“Arthur—I—I’m so sorry. Do you know if she’s going to be okay?”

“She’s stable now, but… Can you come to the hospital?” He pauses. “No. I’m sorry. I know you’re at work and you should—”

“I’ll be there in 30 minutes.”

Sophie can see Gotham General Hospital as she leaves the subway station, half walking half jogging to get there. She told her manager she had a “family emergency” and he let her leave without hassle, which was a surprise to her. If the death of those men did any favors for her, it was getting him to soften up to her requests, likely thinking she’s still shaken up over the whole incident.

As she crosses the street and approaches the hospital, she sees three people standing near the entrance. Arthur’s lanky frame instantly stands out and she runs to him, paying the two other men no mind. She hugs him tightly and he returns it. “Arthur,” she whispers, giving him a quick kiss. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you for coming.” His eyes move from hers to the men behind them. She turns her head to look. Police officers. “If you don’t mind, I have to be with my mother.”

The two men say nothing, but they let them walk away, Arthur leading Sophie inside. “Were those police officers?” 

“Yeah, they um, they had some questions about those murders.”

Sophie stops. “Why? You didn’t have anything to do with that.” She has to stop herself from adding a _right? _at the end. Of course he didn’t. He was with her.

“I guess they’re asking everyone who works as a clown.”

She doesn’t say anything, following him when he starts walking again. Sophie is just as silent as they reach the room where Penny is at. Her already small body looks even smaller in the bed, like she’s going to break if you move her the wrong way. Arthur sits down, holding her hand as delicately as he can.

Once again, Sophie doesn’t feel like she should be there. It’s not because she hardly knows Penny, but she can sense the guilt on Arthur’s face as he looks at his mother. He probably has regrets about arguing with her the night before, no clue that this would happen. Sophie sits next to him, rubbing circles on his back. It’s all she can do, and hope that Penny pulls through. 

Arthur looks more exhausted than usual. She wants to ask him how meeting Thomas went, but it isn’t the right time. As she sits with him, she realizes that if it went well, he would be here. If he cared about Penny as much as her letter implied, he would be standing at her side, holding her hand just as his son is doing. In that moment, she knows it didn’t go well. The tired lines on Arthur’s face make it even more obvious.

“Do you want some coffee?” Sophie whispers.

He nods, and Sophie kisses him on the forehead before stepping out. The hospital’s coffee machine just hardly works so she spends longer than expected to fill two small Styrofoam cups, standing awkwardly in the common room surrounded by sickly looking patients and tired visitors. The vibe reeks of death and isolation.

When she finally returns, Arthur is standing, staring up at the television on the wall. Sophie walks closer to him, looking up to see what has his attention so intently. She nearly drops their coffee when she sees Arthur on the screen, a video recording of his act at Pogo’s playing.

_“Well no one’s laughing now!”_ The video cuts from Arthur on stage with his arms spread to Murray Franklin giving a look that says _really?_ and his audience starts laughing. Arthur is speechless, his expression unreadable.

“L-let’s watch something else…” Sophie sets the coffees down, looking for the remote. Arthur doesn’t respond, still staring at the television. If she believed in god, she would send him the worst curses she could think of. Of all days, why does this have to happen to him? She changes to a random channel; anything is better than watching Arthur get made fun of on live TV.

They spend the night at the hospital. The couch is hardly big enough for the both of them but sometime in the late hours, Sophie ends up resting her head on Arthur’s lap and falls asleep after that. He didn’t say much to her beforehand, and Sophie didn’t push him to. It’s already difficult trying to get him to open up, any little reveal is a victory for her. But when life keeps kicking him down, she worries that he’ll distance himself more._ I feel myself slipping when I’m not around you_. She doesn’t want him to slip. She’ll do whatever she can to prevent that from happening.

Sophie wakes to the muffled sound of music, music that becomes clearer when she sits up and the remnants of sleep disappear. Penny doesn’t seem to have moved at all throughout the night. Just when she realizes that Arthur isn’t in the room, he walks in with a cup of coffee. He hands it to her, kissing her lightly. “Did the music wake you?”

“A little,” Sophie says, noting that it’s coming from the small radio between the bed and the couch. “It sounds nice.” She’s not the biggest fan of music, listening to enough of it at her job, but she always liked jazz. It’s soothing, almost.

“My mom loves this station. I thought maybe she…maybe she’ll hear it. And she’ll know I’m here.”

“Hey,” Her fingers graze his face. “I’m sure she does. She knows you’re here for her.”

“Sometimes I try to get her to dance with me. She’s usually too tired for it, but…” 

“Do you want to dance?”

He looks at her, a hint of a smile forming on his lips, the first she’s seen since meeting him at the hospital. He takes her hands, guiding her in a gentle movement around the small room. Although she dances for a living, she wouldn’t call herself skilled at all. But it doesn’t matter to Arthur, he wraps his arm around her waist, bringing her closer to him.

Arthur presses his forehead against hers, and Sophie leans in to kiss him. She’ll take this victory, this moment of happiness for him. Even if it’s brief, she wants him to remember that she’s there for him. She always will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is my longest chapter yet?! I hope it was worth the wait, thanks for all the feedback! :)


	13. Secrets

Penny still hasn’t woken up. The doctors say it can be any minute, any hour, any day, just guesswork at this point. Sophie never left the hospital, already accepting that she’ll be going to work in last night’s clothes. As long as Arthur is there, she doesn’t want to leave him. He’s already gone through a pack of cigarettes, alternating between pacing around the small room and sitting on the couch, intently watching Penny for any sign of movement. 

Sophie mindlessly flips through random channels when something on the news causes her to stop there. Crowds of people wearing clown masks are standing outside a building, holding protest signs with Thomas Wayne’s name on them. _Wayne = Fascist. Kill the rich. We are all clowns. _Sophie touches Arthur’s shoulder, motioning him to look at the television.

_“What do you hope to accomplish with these protests?” _A reporter asks one of the protesters and he stares directly into the camera.

_“Fuck the rich! Fuck Thomas Wayne! This is what this whole fucking thing is all about!”_

A voiceover from the reporter states that protests are happening right now in front of an event that Thomas is attending at Wayne Hall. Arthur suddenly stands, grabbing his coat. He walks out and Sophie follows him. “Where are you going?” 

“My father—Thomas—he’s there. I need to talk to him.” 

“But—what happened yesterday? How did it go?” 

“He wasn’t there. I…I met my half-brother. Bruce…” He trails off. “I have to go. I’ll see you later tonight, okay?”

All Sophie can do is nod before he kisses her and runs towards the exit.

Sophie stays at the hospital as long as she can before leaving for work. There’s only so much she can do in the form of checking in on Penny, and even then, she doesn’t notice in her fragile state. It’s not like Sophie would be much help either, her mind is focused entirely on Arthur. Although Thomas wasn’t there when he tried talking to him the first time, she has a feeling that things aren’t going to get any better if he does manage to meet him. 

She doesn’t trust him, doesn’t like that he’s running for mayor. His words seem empty, void of regard for the working class. She’s been conflicted on the community response to the murders, but the more she hears Thomas Wayne talk, the more she finds herself siding with the protesters, maybe even siding with the killer. The thought makes her uncomfortable, but what have the rich in Gotham done other than step all over them?

The news is still showing coverage of the protests. She doubts she’ll see him, but she looks for Arthur in the crowd, trying to spot his brown jacket. It’s no use. There are too many people. In the background, she can just hardly make out what looks like police officers standing in front of the crowd, blocking them from the steps of Wayne Hall. Suddenly, the cops have their batons out, fighting with the crowd. A reporter is on the screen.

_“A fight appears to have broken out near the entrance. Several protesters are getting involved—now the cops—they’re all fighting now! Can we—”_

It cuts to the newsroom. Sophie doesn’t realize her hands are balled into fists until she feels her nails digging in her skin. “Goddamn it, Arthur…you better be safe out there.”

“Ha…ppy?”

Sophie jumps at the noise, looking around. Her eyes land on Penny, who’s looking at her with a lazy expression. She must still be out of it. But she’s awake, finally.

“Happy?” She says it again, less of a croak than before but still strained.

“He, Arthur…” Sophie leans forward so Penny can hear her. “He was here earlier. He had to do something important…he’s talking to Thomas.”

If Sophie wasn’t looking at her, she wouldn’t have caught it. But Penny’s eyes widen just a bit, enough to let her know that she’s surprised. She starts shaking her head, at least, that’s what Sophie thinks it looks like. Her mouth opens again, but nothing comes out, just her broken breathing. Then her eyes close again, off to another deep sleep. Sophie lets a nearby nurse know that she briefly woke up, then she leaves, unable to do anything else.

The protests make it difficult for Sophie to get to work on time, and to eventually go home. She naively thought the crowds would die down by the time she clocked out in the late hours, but they were still on the streets, running around in their clown masks. The only television at the club is in her manager’s office so she had no update on how the protests went, but from the look of the crowds roaming about, they’re still going on.

Arthur said he would meet her later tonight. How late, she didn’t know. She considered knocking on his door but instead stood partially frozen when she got to their floor, staring in brief confusion at the person sitting in front of her door, face covered by a familiar hoodie. Arthur. She walks to him; it looks like he’s sleeping. It isn’t until she kneels next to him that she realizes what’s wrong.

“Arthur?” He looks up at her, and she’s hit with a terrible déjà vu. His face is bruised, a dried blood trail starting at his nose and ending at his chin. Speaking of his nose, it looks swollen, like someone directly punched him there. Looking at him like this, knowing that someone hurt him again, she's overwhelmed with emotion. Sadness. Frustration. Heartbreak. Rage. “What happened?” 

“I met my dad.” 

Sophie helps him up, about to unlock her door when she remembers that she doesn’t have anything of use for his injury. “Let’s go to your place instead.” He digs in his pockets for the key, handing it to her. She leads him to the living room when they enter his apartment. His shirt is stained with blood, but she focuses on his face, going to the kitchen to wet a towel and take whatever random frozen bag she can find in the freezer.

“There’s a first aid kit somewhere.” He calls out to her, his voice cracking.

She finds it after opening nearly every cabinet in the kitchen and goes back to the living room to sit next to him, handing him the bag of frozen peas. He’s silent as she wipes the blood away as gently as she can, a pang of guilt hitting her every time she notices him trying to hide the pain.

“You said you met him…did he do this?”

He stares ahead. “He called her crazy…said he’s not my father.” Finally, he looks at her, anger in his eyes. “He said I’m adopted. That my mom lied. He’s the liar. He’s the fucking liar.” 

His hands are shaking, like he’s trying to hold back. She touches them, trying to calm him down. All she can think about is the last time he was like this, after reading Penny’s letter, how scary and unlike himself he was. “He’s an asshole, Arthur. That’s all he is. He doesn’t need to be in your life.”

“What if I wanted him in my life?” His voice is suddenly small, almost a whisper to himself. “I’ve always been the man of the house… I just wanted to know who my dad was. Why he abandoned us. Why my mom hid it for so long when she could’ve just told me. How would you feel if your mother kept something like that from you?”

Sophie looks at him, unable to answer. She didn’t expect the question, to suddenly think of her mother and in turn, think of Gigi. She finds herself doing that a lot lately, unable to look past the fact that she hasn’t told him, unable to shake how awful she feels for keeping her daughter a secret. Arthur notices the stunned look on her face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you that.”

“No, Arthur, I…” she trails off, biting her lip. “I have something to tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel kinda evil ending this chapter on a cliffhanger and yet..............


	14. The Invitation

“I don’t want you to hate me.”

“Why would I hate you?”

Sophie feels so selfish, turning the focus to her. But whenever Arthur talks to her about Thomas, her mind always goes to Gigi. The guilt becomes heavier with every thought. She can kid herself all she wants, but there’s never going to be a right time to tell him so she might as well just blurt it out.

“I have a daughter. Her name is Gigi.”

She expects him to snatch his hand away, to recoil in disgust. But he doesn’t. He just stares at her, eyes pressing her to continue.

“She lives with my mother. I don’t have a good relationship with her, never did. When I got pregnant, she told me that she didn’t want me raising Gigi because I’m a fuck up. And she’s right, I am a fuck up. As soon as I gave birth to her, my mother took her and left me at the hospital. I haven’t seen her since. Every time you talk about Thomas, I think of her. And how she’ll never meet her real mom, unless she looks for me. But I know my mother won’t let that happen. She’ll erase every trace of me.”

Tears roll down her face. She can’t look at him, embarrassed.

“You’re not a fuck up,” he finally says, reaching out to wipe a tear away. “And I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t think I’m a hypocrite?”

“You were right when you said my dad is an asshole. But you’re not. You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m far from that, Arthur.”

“But you are to me.”

She gives him a little nod, reluctantly accepting his answer. He won't change his mind. “Now you know my secret.”

“Do you ever miss her—you didn’t know her, but…”

“I try not to think about it. But now I do, a lot. I hardly had her in my arms before my mother snatched her away. I’m not saying I would’ve been mom of the year, but I would’ve tried. Now I’ll never know.”

“You should try calling…if you really want to talk to her.”

Sophie forces out a laugh, trying not to sound bitter. “My mother won’t let that happen.”

“You could still try.”

“Thank you, Arthur. Really. Thank you for understanding.” Sophie feels silly and relieved all at once. _And I don’t hate you. _This must be what goes through his mind when he opens up to her, preparing for the worst but getting a hug in response, a kiss. Further confirmation that she’ll always be by his side, and he’ll be by hers.

“Okay, I’m sorry for the detour. Let me get back to cleaning you up.”

After Sophie finishes tending to Arthur and determining that his nose probably isn't broken, he goes to take a shower. The apartment is eerily empty without Penny there, her lack of presence strong. She walks around the living room, noting the framed paintings of what looks like renaissance figures, but nothing of Arthur. No baby photos, no awkward school portraits, no glimpse into his childhood. Maybe he doesn’t like having his picture taken.

The phone starts to ring, but she doesn’t answer it, letting it to go to voicemail to tell Arthur later. _“This message is for Arthur Fleck. This is Detective Garrity with the Gotham City Police Department. My partner and I spoke with you last night.” _Sophie walks to the kitchen where the phone is, turning her head slightly to hear if the shower is still running. It is.

_“We tried stopping by earlier today, but there was no answer. We still have some questions for you regarding our investigation. Please get back to us when you get this message so we can schedule a time for you to come down to the station. My number is…”_

Sophie stares at the phone even after the voicemail ends, trying to make sense of Detective Burke’s message. Why do they still need to talk to Arthur? He was with her, he got attacked that night. He came to her battered and bloodied, his blood only. Right? Yes, it’s right, Sophie thinks to herself, an uncomfortable feeling creeping up on her for even remotely thinking that Arthur had anything to do with those murders. He didn’t.

A hand snakes around her waist and she jumps. Arthur rests his head on her shoulder, his still wet hair instantly drenching her dress. “Now I’m going to be damp and gross, Arthur.”

“Maybe…you should take it off?” He kisses her neck. Sophie’s face is hot, surprised at the sudden boldness.

“Are you flirting with me?”

He turns her around to face him, his hand trailing up her thigh. “Yeah. Is it working?”

They end up on the couch, Sophie straddling his lap. He doesn’t bother taking her dress off, instead hitching up the fabric, hands roaming underneath to move her underwear to the side. She’s never able to guess which Arthur she has sex with until it’s actually happening—timid, aggressive, nervous, dominant. The many sides of him that she’s still trying to figure out.

She lifts herself up so he can slide his sweatpants down, not unsure if she wants to do this, but unsure if he really wants to. Of course she wants him, she always does, but if she can’t get everything that’s happened out of her head despite it not happening to her, how can he? She seems more preoccupied than him, maybe even overthinking. But despite the questions bouncing off the walls of her mind, Sophie holds onto his shoulders as she lowers herself onto him, a sigh escaping both of their lips.

He fucks her hard and slow, his hands gripping her hips so tightly when he bucks into her that she feels herself trying to squirm away. He doesn’t notice, his mouth on her neck, leaving the beginning of what she expects to be more love bites on her skin.

“Are you okay?” She asks him between breathless moans, trying to make eye contact with him.

“What do you mean?”

“Just—are you feeling better?”

“I’m great,” He holds her face, kissing her. “I’m with you.”

It takes everything in her not to follow up with _are you sure?_, wanting to trust his word. Instead, she just nods as he leaves messy kisses on her lips, that familiar sensation of release already building up.

That damn phone. As soon as it starts ringing, Sophie sits up with a start, almost falling off the couch. Arthur doesn’t react, his head lazily resting on the arm of the couch. He pulls her back down, wrapping his arm around her. “You’re not going to answer it?” She asks, Detective Burke’s voicemail suddenly coming back to her.

He shakes his head. Sophie looks up at him, debating on how to tell him that the cops were looking for him—again. The voicemail responds before her.

_“This message is for Arthur Fleck. My name is Shirley Woods, I work on The Murray Franklin Show.”_

This time Arthur is the one sitting up, Sophie having to steady herself when he jumps off the couch.

_“I don’t know if you’re aware, but Murray played a clip of your stand-up on the show recently and we’ve gotten an amazing response—”_

He answers the phone, his voice too low for Sophie to hear. While he’s talking, she lights a cigarette, one of the few spares left on the coffee table. The call doesn’t last long, but when she sees him again, there’s a stunned expression on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Murray wants me on his show.” He sits down, and Sophie passes the cigarette to him after taking a drag.

“Why? He made fun of—” Sophie stops herself, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know, Arthur. I don’t like how he treated your jokes.”

“But I’ve always wanted to be on the show.” He looks at her, a glint of wonder in his eyes. Almost childlike. Innocent. As if he’s already forgotten how he reacted when he was in the hospital room, looking up at Murray and his audience laughing at him. His silence, how she couldn’t read his expression, but she knew that he was angry. Maybe he did forget. Or maybe he’s making himself forget. “This could be my only chance.”

“I just… I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t,” He kisses her. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I'm almost at fifteen chapters! This is crazy, but also thank you guys for sticking around and reading all of it! I appreciate it so much! :)


	15. The Truth

Sophie doesn’t know how Arthur can keep that kind of promise. People hurt him all the time, how is he going to stop Murray from treating him like a punching bag for a few laughs? But he wants this. He’s wanted it longer than she’s known him. “When’s your big debut?”

“Next Thursday.” He hops up, stubbing the cigarette out and going into Penny’s room. He comes back out wearing a sweater. “You’re going to watch it, right?”

“Of course. I’ll take off work and everything. I’m happy for you.” He grins, and Sophie is already kicking herself for having to rain on his parade. “Also, last night…that detective called you.”

He doesn’t react, and she continues. “He said he still had some questions for you.”

“Okay.” That’s it. No explanation, no rambling. Just okay.

“Are you going to?”

Arthur gets his jacket, as if he’s ready to leave and ignore everything she just said. “Why are you leaving?”

“I need to go to Arkham. Check out my mom’s patient files.”

He says it like it’s the simplest answer in the world. Like he isn’t about to go to _Arkham State Hospital_ because his mother was previously committed there, which Sophie had no clue about until now. Like he didn’t just brush off her question about meeting with the police in regard to an ongoing murder investigation. She has to remind herself that she isn’t crazy for wanting a clear answer.

“Arthur,” Sophies starts. “What about the police? They want to talk to you—again. You told me you didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“I don’t.” His voice is getting higher, but Sophie presses on.

“Then why do they—”

“I don’t fucking know, Sophie!”

With every word he yelled, Sophie felt herself getting smaller. She turns her head, unable to look at him. The space is awkwardly silent, but the remnants of his outburst are still in the air. She’s waiting for him to apologize like he always does, to say he didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable, but instead, she hears the door open and slam shut. He’s gone.

Sophie hates herself for crying. She hates that she couldn’t stop, even when she left his apartment and went to hers, sitting under shower water for close to an hour. She felt worse when she poured herself a glass of wine, but she did nothing to stop herself from drinking it, then pouring another one, filling it to the very top.

Their first argument. Why couldn’t it be over something silly, like what to eat for dinner? Not whether or not he had something to do with killing those businessmen. _I don’t know _isn’t an answer, shrugging it off isn’t an answer. Walking out when she’s looking for a response isn’t an answer, either. If anything, it’s a giant middle finger to her face, as if she’s irrational for wanting to know if he murdered three people.

The thought unsettles her, as it always does, but she can’t avoid it anymore. Does she really believe he has the capability to kill a person? Three people? Her heart says no, but her mind is telling her something else, forcing her to look at the little details. Yes, he was with her that night after getting fired and jumped. But after that? All that time leading up to seeing her? He knocked on her door after one AM. Where was he?

Before leaving for work, Sophie makes the decision. No more dancing around it, no more non-answers. Just facts. If he cares for her, for this relationship, he’ll tell her. Sophie has no idea how she’s going to react. She just wants to know. She needs to know.

Her shift goes by without any interruptions, no phone calls, no way to make an excuse to leave. Every day she walks into work, the urge to quit only increases. But then what would she do? Be a waitress? She’s terrible at customer service. She only gets away with it at the club because men love taking their money out for naked women. Lately, she’s been wondering what would happen if she left the city altogether with Arthur. She’s heard Metropolis is nicer, cleaner, and their suburbs have a lot of farmland too.

She doubts it’ll ever happen and yet she can’t help but think of it, to imagine herself with him in a place that isn’t so toxic and soul sucking, that doesn’t make her want to get drunk as soon as she gets home. She’d just like to have that moment of peace with him somewhere else, somewhere that feels like she can have a future with him. In Gotham, those dreams can’t come true. She’ll drink herself to death before she reaches any kind of goal here. And Arthur? If he killed those men, his future will be behind bars. And as for them, she doesn’t know.

It’s raining by the time Sophie gets off at her station, and she has to use her bag to shield herself as she runs home. She considers knocking on Arthur’s door, but she’s drenched, and she doesn’t want to be distracted when she talks to him. As she walks to her door, a sense of unease follows her. Something doesn’t feel right. She can’t pinpoint what it is until she’s finally standing in front of her door, frozen at the sight of it already being cracked open. Sophie had a few drinks beforehand, but she always locks the door before leaving.

Her heart is beating fast, the drumming in her ears almost deafening. The lights are out in the kitchen and living room, but there’s a slither of light coming from her room, the door slightly ajar. She has to force herself to move to the kitchen, hands roaming aimlessly as she quietly tries to find something to use as a weapon. She picks up a knife in the sink, nearly cutting herself when feeling around the dirty dishes.

Sophie lets the knife lead her as she approaches her bedroom, using the blade to open the door. As her eyes adjust to the dim setting of the room, she spots a figure sitting on the floor near her bed, back facing her. She blinks. The mustard-colored jacket, the brown hair.

“Arthur…?” She doesn’t set the knife down.

No answer from him. He’s motionless, hunched on the floor like a statue. That doesn’t calm her down in the slightest, if anything, the unexplained fear she has becomes realized. “How did you get in here?” Her voice is shaking.

His head turns, finally, wet hair covering his face. He stares at her with this expressionless gaze, void of any emotion. She’s fucking terrified. She couldn’t hide it even if she tried. As if on cue to her thoughts, a hint of a smile creeps on his lips. He opens his mouth, but only laughter comes out. He can’t stop, grabbing his throat with one hand and gripping her bed with the other, trying to stand up. He falls over, the cackling getting louder.

And like that, she drops the knife, running to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Whatever fear she previously felt is gone, replaced with intense worry. She kneels next to him as he laughs, the worst fit she’s seen from him. “Arthur, please—please try to drink this.” He attempts to hold the glass but his hand shakes, water spilling everywhere. That only makes him laugh harder.

_“Shut up!” _A muffled voice yells from below, a dull banging causing the floor to vibrate.

Sophie watches him helplessly, not knowing what to do. He’s crouched on the floor, his entire body trembling. Without thinking, she tries hugging him, pulling him close to her. He’s moving so much that his head ends up in her lap, and she starts to stroke his hair.

He’s still laughing but it gradually calms, coughing more in between to get it out of his system. She leans down, peppering kisses on his forehead. “I’m here, Arthur.” She whispers. “Whatever happened, it’s okay. I’m here. I love you.”

The words come out with ease. She’s been avoiding saying it for so long that a sense of relief overcomes her when it happens. She can finally admit it. Sophie loves him. She doesn’t realize that he’s stopped laughing until she hears his voice. “You really mean that?”

“Yes,” she nods. “I do.”

“You’re the only person in this world who’s ever loved me.”

“That’s not true, Arthur. It’s not just me. Your mother loves you, too.”

“She’s not my mother.”

Sophie stares at him in disbelief. Arthur has never spoken badly about Penny. Then she remembers—the patient file. “What happened at Arkham?”

Arthur doesn’t answer at first, his head still on her lap. She moves some of his hair away, trying to get a better look at his face. That same empty expression from before, staring at the wall instead of her. “You can tell me, Arthur. Please.”

He sits up, digging through his coat pockets until he retrieves a badly folded and damp folder. He hands it to her. The folder has Arkham’s symbol on the cover, Penny’s name on the tab. Sophie opens it. The papers are scattered and crumbled, but the one sitting at the top gives her the answer to her question.

Adoption papers. Penny’s signature at the bottom, signing off on adopting a boy, listed as unknown and abandoned. Sophie’s throat tightens, the information already too much.

“Keep going.” Arthur says.

She flips through the rest, reading about how Penny was committed to Arkham sometime after adopting Arthur, about her being diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder and delusions. But the worst of it came in the form of newspaper clippings detailing the abuse that Arthur suffered as a child, Penny’s ex-boyfriend beating him so badly that he got brain damage. Sophie has to stop when she gets to a line in the article about him being found tied to a radiator, pictures of a young Arthur bruised and beaten clipped to the pages. She can’t read anymore.

“Arthur, I—” Her voice cracks. “I’m so sorry. I’m… I don’t know what else to say.”

They sit in silence. She doesn’t want to move, unable to leave his side. She can’t even begin to fathom how he’s feeling, learning not only did Penny lie about Thomas being his father but also hid the fact that she isn’t his mother. All of this revealed within days, his whole life a fantasy she made up.

“Do you still love me?” He asks, his voice soft. Sophie looks at him.

“I meant what I said. This doesn’t change anything.” She holds his face in her hands, making him look back at her. “Every word, Arthur. You don’t have to be alone anymore. I’m with you.”

“You were holding that knife earlier, like you were going to hurt me.”

Sophie swallows, everything beforehand became a blur when she dropped the knife to help him. She wasn’t supposed to come home to Arthur in her room like this, nearly forgetting that she promised herself she would make him tell her the truth. “I was scared.”

“You were scared of me?”

“I…I didn’t know what was going through your…” she trails off. Dancing around the fear she had only solidifies why she had it in the first place—that gut feeling, telling her that he had something to do with the murders. “Did you kill those men?”

This isn’t how she wanted it to happen, how she wanted to ask him. She doesn’t know what kind of answer to expect, why she even thinks she can get one out of him considering her luck before. He doesn’t leave this time, but he’s still silent, instead intently staring back, those green eyes paralyzing her and she’s suddenly regretting wanting him to look at her.

The faintest smile cracks across his face, the same hint of amusement he had when they first started seeing protesters on the streets. No, Sophie realizes, she doesn’t need to ask anymore. She has her answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not anticipate this chapter being this long…I just didn’t know where to stop! That being said, it might take a little longer for the next update but it is coming! Thank you again for all of the kudos and feedback, this is the most fun I’ve had writing in a long time and I’m so happy that people love Arthur and Sophie’s relationship as much as I do!


	16. Knock, Knock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this would take me longer to write tbh..........but I just can't stop writing! Enjoy! (or not?!)

Sophie’s morning starts with running to the bathroom to throw up. She drank herself to sleep the night before, the only way she knew how to cope after everything she learned. Arthur didn’t leave. She expected him to, but he stayed with her, finally moving from the floor to her bed. He didn’t say anything to her for the rest of the night, instead writing in his journal while he smoked.

She doesn’t know how to feel. She thought she wanted to know the truth, thought she could handle it. But she’s more conflicted than ever now that everything is lining up. He got jumped, so he killed them. He thinks they got what they deserved. Him killing them ignited something in Gotham’s working class, a revolt against the rich. And Thomas Wayne…the sick coincidence of Arthur thinking that he’s his father, the very man that the community is protesting against.

The situation is beyond anything she could’ve imagined. She’s scared—for him, of him—but she still loves him. That feeling she has for him always comes back somehow, and knowing that it hasn’t changed despite finding out the truth scares her the most.

When Sophie walks out of the bathroom, she notices that Arthur isn’t in the room. A torn piece of paper is on the bed, the side that he was at. _Going to the hospital. Come by later._ She’s stunned that he still wants to see Penny, but who else does she have? A sharp pain causes her to sit down, the unwanted but familiar thud of a headache taking form. “Fuck.” Sophie mutters, lying back in bed. It was a mistake drinking, it always is. But she can’t help it, even if she’s getting worse.

As much as she doesn’t want to, she has to force herself to get ready for work. But standing up sends another wave of nausea through her and she’s back in the bathroom, head halfway in the toilet. She doesn’t throw up again, instead, droplets of tears fall into the water. Sophie didn’t cry when he told her, she simply wanted to forget. She drank to forget, and it worked for a little while, but it never lasts.

She just doesn’t know how things are supposed to go back to normal after this, whatever normal was for them before he did it. He’s a wanted man, already a person of interest to the cops, how long will it be before they decide to take him in? Despite how shit she feels, she already has the urge to pour another glass, just to cloud her memory enough to get through work.

As usual, Sophie does the wrong thing. She thought she was doing pretty well at first, that light high giving her the confidence to dance more freely, letting the tacky synth music playing at the club guide her wherever she wanted. But it never lasts. When it came down, she crashed hard. Butterflies in her stomach turned into something heavier, and she nearly trips down the steps of the stage rushing to get to the bathroom.

She doesn’t know how long she’s in there, but when she tries to walk out undetected, her manager is already at the door. “We need to talk.” He motions her to head to his office.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Sophie? You’ve been falling over yourself since you walked in.”

So much for thinking she had it under control. “I… I’m just feeling a little sick. I didn’t want to miss work.”

“Listen, I know it’s been a difficult few days for you since your guy got killed but this isn’t the first time you’ve come to work drunk or hungover.”

“I—”

“Don’t tell me you’re not. I know what rosé smells like. Sweet, until you start puking it up everywhere.”

Sophie doesn’t say anything, her face hot with embarrassment.

“Just go home. Get some water before you leave, fix yourself up. You’re not doing anyone any good right now. But if you come back here fucked up again, you’re fired. You understand me?”

All she can do is nod.

How Sophie didn’t get fired on the spot, she still doesn’t know. She’s not particularly great at what she does, and according to her manager, it’s more than obvious in her performance. She can only hold on to the murders as an excuse for so long. But at the moment, she’s happy to leave. Taking her manager’s advice, she grabs a bunch of water to stuff in her bag, going through two and a half bottles on the train ride home. She still feels awful, but it’s better than before.

Arthur should be home by now, remembering his note for her. Just the thought of him makes her stomach twist in anxiety, and she hates herself for feeling that way. But she can’t leave him, not now. He needs her, and despite everything that’s happened, she still needs him.

She knocks on his door. Her heart is beating fast, reminding her of last night. For a moment, she doesn’t hear anything, thinking he isn’t home. Then why would he tell her to come by? What if he’s… Sophie’s mind is already racing. But when the door opens and she sees his face, an unexpected relief rushes over her.

“Hi, Sophie.” Looking at him, hearing his voice, it’s like she’s experiencing it for the first time again. All of her worries from before just disappeared. She doesn’t know what it is, but she hugs him, the only thing she can think of doing.

“Hi.” She pulls away. She just saw him yesterday, but something was wrong. The blank expression, the anger, that particular smile…it’s gone now. It almost feels like he’s back to normal. She notices that he isn’t wearing his regular clothes, instead a deep red vest and pants combo. His hair is slicked back. “You look nice.”

“I’m practicing my routine for when I see Murray. You wanna watch?”

They go to the living room and he tells her to sit down. The television is playing an old episode of the show on VHS; Arthur pauses it and rewinds. He runs behind a curtain blocking the small hallway. Sophie watches as Murray introduces his guest, a famous actor she hasn’t heard of, and when he walks out, Arthur walks out at the same time, mimicking his movements as he pretends to shake Murray’s hand and sits next to her on the couch with his legs crossed.

“How was that?”

“You look just like him. How long have you been practicing?”

“Just a little while. I was writing some jokes yesterday... I’m going to tell them on the show.”

Arthur is smiling but the only thing Sophie can think about is his laughter. Still, she doesn’t want to bring that up. Not when he seems to be doing well. “Can you tell me one?”

“I want them to be a secret. But, for you...” He takes out his notebook, flipping through it until he settles on a page. “Here’s one. Knock, knock.”

“Who’s there?”

He doesn’t say anything, instead pointing two fingers to his head in the form of a gun and making a _bang! _sound when it goes off. Sophie stares at him in silence as his head goes back, hanging off the couch for dramatic effect. He looks at her. “Did you like it?”

“…I don’t understand.”

“Me shooting myself! Isn’t it funny?”

“No. It’s not funny. I don’t want you to shoot yourself.”

Sophie curses herself for crying so quickly. Arthur sits up when he notices, scooting close to her. “I’m just joking, Sophie. Remember you did it when we first met? It's just a joke.”

She covers her face with one hand, wishing she could stop. That day in the elevator feels like a distant memory with everything that’s happened. It was so simple then. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I just…please don’t get hurt.” She sounds like a broken record at this point, but it's all she can think about. Nothing ever seems to go right for him.

He moves her hand away so he can look at her. “Why would I get hurt?”

“I don’t know, I… I can’t stop worrying about you.”

“I don't want you to worry about me. My act is going to be great.” His head turns to the television, credits for the show on the screen. His eyes light up as he watches them. “And always remember, that’s life.”


	17. Disconnect

Sophie stays the night at Arthur’s place. He doesn’t have alcohol, which is good for her, and she makes herself drink as much water as she can. She falls asleep on the couch watching him repeat his routine, only remembering glimpses of him walking out from behind the curtain and sitting down, crossing and uncrossing his legs while he mumbled pointers to himself.

When she wakes up, she smells coffee. She spots a mug in front of her on the table. Sophie sits up, reaching for it. Despite how awful she still feels, she’s in considerably better condition than yesterday when she had her head in a toilet.

“I was wondering when you’d wake up.” She turns her head towards the sound of running water in the kitchen, Arthur cleaning the dishes before joining her in the living room, taking the recliner across from her. He’s shirtless and back in sweatpants, his usual attire. Sophie notices that his bruises are finally healing, a yellow tinge replacing the deep purple previously scattered on his body.

“What time is it?”

“Almost one.”

Sophie takes a sip of coffee. Lots of sugar; he remembered how she likes it. For a moment, she feels at home with him, isn’t this what couples usually do? Making coffee for each other? Maybe sharing breakfast together? She savors it, even if the thought is fleeting. “I forgot to ask yesterday. Is Penny doing okay?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “She’s dead.”

She nearly chokes on her coffee. “What—she died?!”

“Yeah.”

Arthur’s nonchalant attitude answering her is jarring, to say the least. “Are you okay? I—”

“I don’t want to think about it, you know, she wasn’t my mom.” He chuckles.

“I know but—she still raised…” Sophie stops herself. It’s not worth it. “If you’re hurting, please let me know.”

He shrugs, lighting a cigarette. “I’m not. I feel great.”

Sophie knows everyone handles grief differently, hell, she can’t say she’d shed any tears for her mother if she died tomorrow, but there’s something about his demeanor that’s off. Yes, Penny made a huge mistake. It’s completely valid if Arthur thinks of it as unforgivable, but to see him so casual about her death versus her last image of them together, Arthur holding Penny’s hand in the hospital looking for any sign of a reaction…something isn't right.

An inkling of a thought pops in her mind, and she regrets it as soon as it does. There’s no way he could’ve killed her. No. In the hospital, where there are doctors and nurses roaming about at all hours? Absolutely not. And yet…it wouldn’t be impossible, would it? He’s already done it before. What’s stopping him from doing it again?

“What are you thinking about?”

Sophie looks up from the mug, Arthur’s eyes intent on her. She can’t speak, her silence giving her away. He smiles.

“I told you, Sophie. I don’t want you worrying about me. I don’t want you focusing on people who hurt me.”

“But…I want to know.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“We’re together, Arthur. We’re supposed to be honest with each other.”

“What do you want me to say? That I killed Penny? Is that what you want to hear?”

Sophie has to break eye contact with him, his stare too paralyzing. This isn’t him. He would never say that to her, this kind of directness like a knife to her heart. She just wants whatever aggression that’s in him to go away because he’s not himself. He hasn’t been himself for a while.

He chuckles quietly, like he’s laughing at an inside joke. “Come here.”

Alarm bells are going off in her head, telling her to get out of the living room, get out of the apartment. But she can’t. He watches her silently as she stands, walking the short distance to him. He doesn’t have to say anything for her to know to sit on his lap, those green eyes never leaving her.

She flinches when she feels his hand on her thigh, trailing past her stomach, resting on her chest. Her heart is beating so fast that she can feel the dull rhythm in her ears. “You’re scared again.”

He’s right. She is scared. But she still shakes her head no, and that makes him laugh.

“We’re supposed to be honest with each other.” He mimics her, soft yet eerily amused. Mocking, almost. “Tell me the truth.”

“Yes.” Her voice is quiet, like a whisper, forcing herself to admit it.

He holds her face in his hands, gently, too gently, she thinks, too calm for how off he is. Arthur would be a nervous wreck, ease unknown to him when he’s this close to her. Whoever this person is, it’s not Arthur. This is who killed those men, who killed Penny. She’s sitting on the lap of a murderer.

“Why do you cry so much, Sophie?” His thumb grazes her cheekbone, catching a stray tear. “Do you really think I’m going to hurt you?”

“I don’t know what you’re thinking.”

“Then you’re just going to have to trust me. Can you do that?”

“I don’t…”

“Can you trust me?” He asks slowly, their lips lightly touching. She’s trembling.

“I’ll trust you.” She doesn’t believe herself when she says it. She doubts he believes her either, but he smiles again, a smug, satisfied look on his face before pressing his lips against hers.

His kiss feels wrong, reminding her of the night he showed up at her apartment after his first kill, rough and primal. Everything about him is gradually being tainted, their most intimate moments disrupted by this darkness within him. She doesn’t know how to stop it. If only she could live in ignorance, just to hold onto to those moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :( !


	18. One Last Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Joker made a billion at the box office day! What better way to celebrate than with a new chapter :)

The days leading up to Arthur’s debut are a blur for Sophie. He pretends that everything is normal, so convincing in his delusion that she wonders if he’s really tricked himself into thinking it. It’s harder for her to pretend. Every time she sees him, she tries to do the same, but the cracks in his personality have been getting bigger, this new side of him making her uneasy.

It’s difficult for her to think back to when they first met, his timid yet sweet personality instantly endearing to her. Now he’s blunt, bolder than ever, even confident, but it’s all wrong. Something is wrong with him and she doesn’t know what to do. The closer it gets to Thursday, the less she sees him; he says he has to perfect his routine, that he wants it to be a surprise for her, so she can’t watch any more practice sessions. After the first one, she doesn’t complain.

Sophie wants to drink so badly, an unopened bottle still in her fridge after her manager threatened to fire her. Pouring it down the drain should be simple, but it’s not, the constant thought in the back of her head telling her that’s she going to need it soon. How soon, she doesn’t know, but it looms over her like a threat.

The day before his appearance on Murray’s show, he asks her out on a date. She would’ve never hesitated before, but she does now, briefly considering what would happen if she said no. “You know I work tonight; I don’t want you waiting around for me before your big day.”

“I think I remember telling you that I’d wait forever for you.”

“Yeah, I guess you did,” she bites her lip, recalling the memory. She wishes she could go back to it. “Where do you want to go?”

“You’ll see.”

That doesn’t make her feel any better. Nothing he’s said does, but what say does she have? She’s just going along with his unknown ideas. He tells her that he’ll meet her at work; she can’t help but wonder what they’re going to do in the late hours of Gotham. The only places open are strip clubs, X-rated theaters, and shitty diners. Maybe she’ll finally cave in and get that drink.

Her manager’s initially watchful eye over her has decreased in the last few days, but she still catches an occasional glance from him, checking to see if she comes into work stumbling. She wouldn’t be surprised if word got around about her drinking, the hushed whispers from the other girls when she walks in the dressing room enough indication that they were talking about her beforehand. She really needs to quit this fucking job.

Sophie still has some time left in her shift when she spots him. Wednesdays are usually slow, only a few men lingering around towards closing, so it was easy to see him watching her. She blinks a few times, just to make sure her mind isn’t playing tricks on her. It’s him. She leaves the stage, feeling awkward and small as she walks to him in ridiculously high heels and string passing as underwear.

“You’re early.”

“I wanted to see what you do.”

“You know what I do. That’s why you’ve never come in here.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Well, I can’t leave yet.”

“I know. I want a dance.”

Sophie stares at him in confusion before looking over her shoulder. “I don’t think that’s—”

“No one knows we’re together here. I’m just another paying customer.”

“You’re going to pay me?”

“Do you want me to?”

She doesn’t answer that, instead, taking his hand and leading him to one of the private rooms in the back. “You really don’t want anyone to see us together.” If it weren’t for the amused tone in his voice, she would’ve taken that comment as him being pissed off. He sits on the worn leather couch, his demeanor relaxed, as if he’s been here a million times before.

Once again, his eyes tell her what to do. Since she’s already naked, she doesn’t have anything to strip, so she closes her eyes and moves to the sound of synth playing, hands roaming slowly down her body to the rhythm.

“No,” he says. “Look at me.”

She’s stared into those green eyes so many times before, but she has to stop herself from freezing on the spot. He makes her feel like she’s the only one in the world, no one there to interrupt the moment, he has her all to himself and she couldn’t leave even if she tried. His legs spread a bit, fingers tapping his thigh. He’s hard.

“Maybe I should st—”

“No.”

“My shift is almost over, I can get ready to—”

“Hurry.”

Sophie leaves the private room, head spinning as she tries to walk as normally as possible to the dressing room without seeming like she’s rushing. Her heart hasn’t stopped racing even when she’s away from him for a moment, he just has that effect on her now. While the remaining girls say their goodbyes and leave in pairs, Sophie waits until she’s the last one. The club is empty, music no longer playing. She catches sight of her manager in his office when she finally leaves, slipping away quietly so he doesn't notice her as she walks to the back exit.

She’s expecting it, but she still lets out a gasp when she feels his hands on her the second she steps outside, pushing her against the closest wall. They say nothing, letting their heavy breathing speak for each other as they pull at clothes, focusing on everything below the waist. She wraps a leg around him, bringing him closer, and his mouth is on her neck already biting at his favorite spot. Any sense of rationality is thrown out the window the moment he’s inside her, a moan escaping their lips in unison.

Sophie stares ahead as he thrusts into her, a brick wall lined with garbage looking back at her. She’s never felt dirtier, getting fucked in a dark alley at two AM by a man who she knows isn’t her boyfriend. But she can’t stop, she can never stop when she’s with him. She can never walk away, she can’t leave him. Despite knowing it’s not him, she still wants to see Arthur even if it means lying to herself. So she lets him do what he wants, pumping in her for a quick fuck, releasing that same pent up aggression that he had when he took her on the counter in her kitchen.

She can hardly catch her breath when he’s done, holding onto the wall for support when he pulls away to zip up his pants. The high never lasts long enough, and she feels vulnerable and exposed all at once, a wave of embarrassment washing over her in an instant. What am I doing, she thinks, why am I doing this to myself? Love is the worst possible answer, but that’s the only thing her mind tells her.

“You’re not yourself anymore.” She says it mostly to herself, just a whisper, but knowing he can hear.

“I know.” Such a simple response, as if it’s okay. If she didn’t know any better, she’d almost believe that it was based on his reaction. He steps closer, raising her chin with his finger so she can look at him. His expression is unreadable, like he wants to say a million things but can’t choose what. He finally settles on one. “You’re still going to watch me tomorrow?”

“That hasn’t changed.”

“Good.” He kisses her on the forehead, the softest touch she’s felt from him since this drastic change, and something in the back of her mind is telling her that he’s saying goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting down to the wire guys...................


	19. Murray Franklin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loooooong chapter ahead, I'm sure you guys know why.......

On the day of his debut, Arthur doesn’t want Sophie to see him, instead wanting her to witness his big moment on television as it happens. They parted ways the previous night in silence, Arthur watching her walk to her door. It felt strange leaving him, she’s so accustomed to spending nights with him that it feels as if a part of her is missing when she’s alone. It’s been like that for the past week, waking up and going to sleep in an empty bed, expecting to smell his cigarettes in the morning and being disappointed when she remembers he isn’t there.

Sophie knows he distanced himself to practice, but she worries that he’ll continue to do so after his appearance. _You’re not yourself anymore. _She keeps replaying that moment in her head, his casual acceptance hurting her the more she thinks about it. She would give anything to see what’s going on in his head, just to try to make sense of everything that’s happened. Instead, she’s stuck with her thoughts alone, and they’re slowly eating away at her.

She has the entire day to herself, nothing to do but wait until it gets dark. She’ll go mad if she sits in her thoughts, but she’s never had so much time to waste. As she paces around her apartment, she stops when she glances at her phone, suddenly remembering Arthur’s advice to try calling her mother. It’s a terrible idea, but acting on impulse sounds more appealing than the conflicting debates in her head.

Her mother’s number comes back to her easily, one of those things she can’t forget. She doesn’t know what to expect randomly calling her, but the second she hears the dial tone she instantly starts to regret it. She forces herself to stay on the line, repeating Arthur’s words in her head.

“Dumond residence.”

Sophie can’t speak. Hearing her mother’s voice for the first time in years triggers repressed memories, snapshots of their strained and toxic relationship. The constant yelling, belittling, telling Sophie that she’ll never amount to anything. Sophie rebelling and eventually getting pregnant. Her mother taking her only child away from her. Everything coming back to her at once, it’s too much.

“Hello?”

Sophie blinks, fighting away the tears. “It’s me. It’s Sophie.” Silence on her mother’s end. “Can you answer me?”

“What do you want.”

“To talk.”

“_To talk_? When have you ever wanted to just talk? What have you fucked up this time?”

It takes everything in her not to tell her mother to fuck off, instead, choosing her words slowly. “I haven’t fucked up anything. I just wanted to call.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“Why? I haven’t talked to you in years. You’re the one who left me—”

“You know why I left you—”

“You took her from me when you did! I don’t even know what she looks like anymore!”

“You should’ve thought about that before you decided to screw up your life.”

“So I don’t get a second chance to redeem myself? You can, but I can’t? Is that how it works—”

_“Mommy, can we go outside?”_

Gigi. Her little voice pierces through Sophie, hearing her for the first time. She’ll never know the truth. Sophie hangs up before listening to her mother’s response, unable to confront that Gigi truly believes she’s her mother.

“Fuck!” Sophie screams, throwing the phone. She goes to the kitchen, opening the fridge and staring at the bottle of wine. She wants it so bad, just to forget. But she can’t. One glass will turn into two, three, then she’ll end up buying more and she doesn’t want to be drunk for Arthur’s debut. She just needs to get out of the apartment.

After aimlessly walking around and buying a pack of cigarettes at the convenience store, Sophie ends up sitting on a bench a few blocks away from her building. There’s nothing of worth in her neighborhood, the bench she’s at next to a sorry excuse for a community park that’s covered in garbage instead of grass. She doesn’t care, taking a long drag. Anything is better than where she was before, back in that mindset so close to making her drink again. Cigarettes will kill her too, but she can’t get fired for that. She closes her eyes, trying not to think of anything.

“Sophie Dumond?”

Sophie looks up. Two men stand in front of her, and her eyes instantly go to the badges around their necks. Police. It doesn’t take long for her to recognize them as the men who were talking to Arthur when she met him at the hospital. The same men who called him.

“Can I help you?” She asks, hoping her voice doesn’t betray her.

“I’m Detective Garrity, this is Detective Burke. We’re with GCPD. We have some questions about your relationship with Arthur Fleck.”

“How do you know who I am?” Sophie’s mind is racing, they know her full name. She hasn’t spoken to anyone. Then it hits her—her job. Since they’re investigating the murders, they probably ended up questioning people at the club and some loudmouth could’ve easily outed Sophie and her relationship to the dead men. She stands up. “Actually, I need to get going…”

“Miss Dumond, please. Arthur hasn’t been answering our phone calls, and we really need to talk to him. Whatever you know, you can tell us.”

“I—I don’t know where he is.”

“But you are together, correct? In a relationship?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Do you know where he was the night of the subway murders?”

“He was with me. I have to go now.”

They call after her, but Sophie doesn’t stop, quickly walking back to her building. She’s tempted to knock on Arthur’s door, but her silly loyalty to his wishes won’t let her. When all of this is over, they have to talk. If the police are questioning her, then that means they have more than enough reason to believe that Arthur did it. And yet, she still covered for him, telling them that he was with her. What does that mean for her?

There’s something by her door. As she walks closer, she sees that it’s flowers. Fake flowers, but they’re pretty. Colorful. A note is attached. She picks it up. _Thank you for being nice to me. _Unsigned, but she knows it’s Arthur’s handwriting. She smiles, trying to stop the lump forming in her throat that’ll make her cry. Just like his kiss last night, the note feels like a final goodbye.

She has to keep telling herself that it isn’t, that she’s going to see him after the show later tonight, that they’re going to laugh and kiss and have sex and not think about the police or the fact that he’s a murderer. Even with how unrealistic it sounds, she continues to push the idea in her head, holding onto any positivity she can take.

With an hour to spare, Sophie decides to waste the remaining time flipping through channels. She sits on the floor in front of her television, the flowers Arthur gave her next to her and a hot cup of tea in her hands replacing what would usually be alcohol. The nightly news is playing before Murray’s show; she doesn’t pay much attention to what they’re saying until she catches one of the news anchors talking about the ongoing protests.

_“The already tense protests turned deadly today when one protester was killed and two police officers were left in critical condition after an altercation on the subway. Hundreds of protesters have rallied in front of City Hall as a part of the growing ‘Kill the Rich’ movement. As we’ve reported before, this movement started after an unknown assailant in a clown mask killed three Wayne Investments businessmen. The suspect is still at large.”_

Sophie stares at the screen. What if something happened to Arthur on the way to the show? She thinks back to the GCPD detectives, what if they just decided to arrest him? “Calm down,” she says to herself. If anything happened, she would know. He wouldn’t be on the show tonight if he got arrested. She keeps telling herself that, only stopping when the theme for Murray’s show starts to play.

It’s finally time. The opening credits announce who’ll be on tonight’s show—some actor, Dr. Sally, and a special guest. Arthur’s that special guest. He’s okay, he didn’t get arrested. She doesn’t know what to expect, if he’s supposed to come out first or if she has to wait to see him. It ends up being the latter.

She’s impatient as she watches Murray go through his opening monologue, mind unfocused on anything that doesn’t relate to Arthur. It’s the same when he brings out the actor and eventually Dr. Sally, the three of them joking amongst themselves. Sophie sighs, it’s been nearly 45 minutes.

_“You gotta see our next guest for yourself. Will you stick around? Maybe you can help, I'm pretty sure he could use a doctor.”_

Sophie perks up. He’s talking about Arthur.

_“Does he have sexual problems?” _Dr. Sally asks Murray.

_“He looks like he’s got a lot of problems.”_

The audience laughs. Sophie ignores it. Murray goes on, reminding the audience of the clip he shared of Arthur’s act. _“Play it again!” _Sophie looks down, she doesn’t want to watch it again, doesn’t want to be reminded that it happened. The sound of the audience laughing feels like a gut punch.

_“Now before he comes out, I just want to say that we're all heartbroken here and sensitive to what's going on in the city tonight. But, this is how he wanted to come on the show. So let me introduce: Joker.”_

Joker? Sophie watches as a man in a red suit comes out from behind the multi-colored curtains, dancing and flicking his cigarette to the ground before twirling to the stage. “Holy shit.” It’s Arthur. But it’s not Arthur. Everything about him is different. His face is painted with clown makeup. His hair is green. He moves smoothly, shaking Murray’s hand with confidence, not awkward like his usual self. Before sitting down, he kisses Dr. Sally and Sophie lets out a silent gasp. How is this him?

She can’t even focus on what’s being said because she can’t stop looking at his face. He stares at the crowd in what looks like awe, even smiling when Murray makes a joke at his expense.

_“So, can you tell us about this look. When we spoke earlier, you mentioned that this look was not a political statement, is that right?”_

_“That’s right, Murray. I’m not political. I’m, uh, just trying to make people laugh.”_

_“And how’s that going for you?”_

The audience laughs and Arthur joins in, but it isn’t one of his laughing fits. It’s contained. She’s never heard him laugh like that before. Murray asks him if he’s been working on any new material, and if he wants to tell them a joke. Arthur smiles and Sophie tries smiling too, he seems to be doing well despite the circumstances. He takes out his journal, flipping through the pages. Murray watches him in amusement, jokingly saying that he’s got all night when Arthur doesn’t say anything.

_“Here’s one. Knock, knock.”_

Her smile disappears. His goodbye suddenly makes sense and she feels her stomach twist. He can’t do it. Not on live television. Murray asks _who’s there? _and Sophie stares at Arthur, looking for any sign of a gun. But it never comes.

_“It’s the police, ma’am. Your son’s been hit by a drunk driver. He’s dead.”_

She lets out a sigh of relief, actually laughing at the absurdity of it all. It was just a joke, just like he said. He’s not going to kill himself. She stands up, going to the kitchen to heat water for another cup of tea. She listens to the television from where she is, considerably more relaxed than when the show first started. Arthur’s doing better than she expected, undoubtedly because of whatever change he’s going through, but she almost prefers it at the moment due to how unfazed he seems.

_“…it’s been a rough few weeks, Murray…ever since I…killed those three Wall Street guys.”_

Sophie drops her cup, the glass shattering. She stumbles back into the living room, staring at the screen. He’s smiling.

_“Okay, I’m waiting for the punchline.” _Murray says, perplexed.

_“There is no punchline. It’s not a joke.”_

The audience boos him, but Murray continues, questioning Arthur’s motivations. Arthur answers him casually, too casually for the situation, and Sophie is instantly reminded of all the times she questioned him like this, and how he would give her a nonchalant answer.

_“…I killed those guys because they were awful. They were awful to…” _He pauses, looking down for a moment before continuing. _“Everybody is awful these days.”_

He was going to say her name. Sophie can’t move, she can’t speak. She can’t do anything but watch him confess to the crime on national television. She can’t react, even when he makes a joke about killing the men, even when his voice raises as he goes on about Thomas Wayne and how no one gives a shit if you aren’t rich like him. It hits her, slowly, that he’s going to jail. She won’t see him again. They were never going to have that happy, fantasized ending together. He killed that the moment he killed those men.

_“…not everybody is awful.”_

_“You’re awful, Murray.”_

_“Me? I’m awful? Oh yeah? How am I awful?”_

_“Playing my video. Inviting me on the show. You just wanted to make fun of me. You’re just like the rest of them.”_

Arthur grins when Murray blames him for the riots, for the two policemen getting put in the hospital. He doesn’t stop smiling, nodding while he laughs to confirm that everything happened because of him, that everything is his fault. That he’s a murderer.

_“How about another joke, Murray?”_

_“No, I think we’ve had enough of your jokes—”_

_“What do you get when you cross a mentally ill loner with a society that abandons him and treats him like trash?”_

_“You call the police!”_

“_I’ll tell you what you get. You get what you fucking deserve!”_

The gunshot rings in her ears. She blinks at the screen, Murray’s lifeless body hanging off the chair, his blood sprayed across the wall. The audience is yelling. Dr. Sally is hiding in the arms of the actor. Sophie can’t process what she just witnessed. Arthur chuckles, standing up. He shoots Murray again, doing a little dance before walking to the camera and grabbing it to focus on his face.

_“Good night. And always remember, that’s—”_

The program cuts.


	20. Call Me Joker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is guys.......the last chapter! I was originally debating splitting it up because it got pretty long (like nine pages in Microsoft Word long lmao) but I decided to keep it all together and let yall enjoy the longest chapter yet as the finale. Ok let me stop rambling now hahaha x

Sophie stares at the test card on the screen, her mouth ajar. Despite the cheerfully upbeat music playing at full volume, she can’t get the sound of the gunshot out of her head. It’s only when the screen finally cuts to the news that she stumbles back to the floor.

_“Breaking news coming out of Gotham tonight—popular late-night host Murray Franklin has been shot dead on live television by a man who calls himself Joker. Franklin invited him on the show, where he confessed to killing the three Wayne Investments businessmen gunned down a few weeks ago before aiming the gun at Franklin…”_

She stumbles as she tries to stand to her feet, going to the kitchen. She opens the fridge, that unopened bottle telling her that now is the time. Despite the tinge of rationality still in her mind yelling at her not to, she drinks it straight from the bottle, not stopping even when her throat starts to burn. Please let me forget, she pleads with herself, unable to face what just happened. But as if responding to her own question, she's suddenly hunched over the sink, already throwing up. No, her body won’t let her drink now. She has to live with what she just saw.

_“…Gotham is burning. The protests have turned into riots on the streets after the murder of Murray Franklin at the hands of the man only identified as Joker. He was arrested shortly after the crime was committed…”_

Sophie doesn’t know what prompts her to do it, but she gets her jacket and leaves. She has no idea where she’s going, aimlessly ending up on the subway heading downtown. It slowly becomes more packed the closer they get to the city center, faces that enter covered by clown masks. _Gotham is burning_. That’s what the reporter said, but in Sophie’s trance, she failed to take into consideration what that actually meant.

The streets are literally on fire, cars set aflame and glass shattered across multiple buildings while people roam around in all directions. It’s chaos. All because of Arthur. A few rioters are straying around, breaking into businesses and looting whatever they can find while others try to reach safety, but Sophie follows the crowd. They seem to be moving towards the intersection.

As she approaches it, she notices that the crowd stops, circling something ahead. People are jumping, waving signs and bats as they chant. _Get up! Get up! _Sophie pushes through them, trying to see what it is. She freezes when she spots Arthur standing to his feet on a battered police car, the officer lifeless in the driver’s seat. He looks at the crowd, giving a little bow before he dances on the car, twirling around. Despite the chants and yelling, Sophie’s world is silent.

She only sees him. Her vision gets blurrier as she watches him perform for the cheering rioters. Then he stops, suddenly, fingers going to his mouth. His back is to the crowd, but when he turns to face them again, his arms are outstretched, a blood smile spread across his mouth.

“Arthur!” Sophie yells, pushing through the remaining people. His eyes curiously scan the crowd until they lock with hers, expression unreadable through the smeared makeup and blood. She’s in front of the police car, looking up at him. The longer she looks at him, the harder it is for her not to just break down. 

He holds his hand out, motioning her to come to him. She takes it, and he pulls her on top of the car. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.” He says, his voice soft before giving her a wide grin. He takes her other hand, pulling her close for a dance. The crowd goes wild, their chants deafening.

“We have to go,” Sophie pleads with him, knowing that it’s useless but she can’t help to try. “The city is on fire.”

“I know. Isn’t it beautiful?” He leans her back, kissing her. The taste of his blood fills her mouth and she pulls away, spitting it out. He laughs. “Don’t be so sad!”

It takes everything in her not to look from him, the sight of his bloodied face too much to see. But as she forces herself to stare at him, she notices the trail of tears, the pain in his eyes clear as day. The same sadness she’s seen in him again and again, laughing despite the pain, laughing because of the pain. He can smile all he wants, but she can see through it.

“Please. I love you, Arthur. I can still see you. You’re crying.”

He holds her face, those green eyes glistening back at her. She doesn’t move, even when his hands trail down, fingers sliding across the corners of her mouth to force her into a smile.

“Call me Joker.”

The cheering from the crowd turns frantic when several SWAT trucks race down the street, forcing them to either run to the sidewalk or get hit. Officers with guns jump out within seconds, backing the crowd up while the remaining move towards the police car.

The moments leading up to Sophie sitting in an interrogation room at Gotham City Police Department are a blur for her. The SWAT team separated them; it wasn’t until later when she overheard from the police that she learns she had to be physically pulled away from him. She wouldn’t let go. His laughter comes back to her in glimpses, still cackling even when they slammed him face first on the hood of the car to handcuff him.

She looks down at her own handcuffs. What’s she going to do? It’s not like she’s a threat. But then again, Arthur didn’t seem like a threat either. Just thinking of his name hurts. _Call me Joker_. The darkness that slowly took over him finally has a name. She shuts her eyes, telling herself not to cry again. She’s cried enough.

The door opens. An officer walks in with a folder, takes the seat across from her. When she looks ahead at him she finally sees her reflection in the one-way mirror. He smeared the same blood smile across her mouth. He. Joker. A lasting goodbye.

“Let’s make this as easy as possible and get straight to the point. Tell me about your relationship with Joker.”

“I don’t have a relationship with Joker.”

He flips through the pages in the folder. “That’s not what I’ve been told.”

“I was in a relationship with Arthur Fleck. Joker killed him.”

It was difficult for Sophie to move on. The police thought she was crazy when she tried explaining what happened to Arthur, but they eventually let her go. The first thing she did was buy a bunch of alcohol with the intention of drinking herself sick. The sight of yellow crime scene tape at Arthur’s door only solidified it. So she got wasted. She did it the next day, and the day after that. Every time she went in her building, rode the elevator, walked the halls, entered her apartment, she was reminded of him. The thought of him was unbearable, alcohol being the only way she could forget, if only temporarily.

She lost her job. Showed up shit-faced and her manager fired her without hesitation, just like he promised. She should’ve been upset about losing her only source of income but all she wanted to do was go home. Nothing could get her to leave the apartment unless it was to go to the liquor store. It pained her to watch the news, but she forced herself to, if only to punish herself. Punish herself for what, she was still deciding, she just felt that she needed to be.

His painted face was always plastered on newspapers; killing Murray that night kicked off a new wave of crime that never went down. Gangs were rampant, many of them pledging loyalty to him while he was locked behind bars in Arkham. Is this what he wanted? He said he didn’t want to be a symbol, that he didn’t think he could start a movement, but he did. He singlehandedly uplifted the underbelly of Gotham with a random act of crime.

Thomas Wayne was murdered on the same night. They celebrated that, the very person who called them a clown gunned down by a clown. Sick irony. Sophie still flinched when she saw those masks, no longer a symbol of rebellion but instead the face of chaos.

Maybe it was a good thing that Penny didn’t have any photos of him. She wouldn’t be able to handle seeing his bare face under headlines calling him a killer. That was all she had left of him, the memory of his face still untainted in her mind. She went from drinking to forget to drinking just to remember those moments she had with him. A never-ending cycle of pain that she refused to get herself out of.

Sophie knew she was on a destructive path, but she just didn’t care anymore. She got another dancing job at a seedier place to afford her poison. Less Wayne businessmen and more criminals, but her new manager didn’t give a fuck how anyone showed up to work as long as he was getting traffic. She got through a lot of shifts drunk, woke up most afternoons with no clue how she got home.

She should’ve left Gotham, but where was she going to go? She never called her mother back, never considered doing anything like that again. She didn’t know anyone. He was the only person who cared about her, and he was gone. Physically, mentally, every trace of him missing. Gone. Dead. _I feel myself slipping when I’m not around you._ Those words from him repeat in her head often, and she never fails to blame herself for what happened. Why didn’t she do more, why didn’t she see the signs, wasn’t he telling her all along that he was losing it? She didn’t see it, and he did slip, leaving Sophie in deep regret. 

During a particularly bad episode, she thought she’d feel better if she took a bath. Led by drunken confidence, she sank slowly into the water, closing her eyes to find a moment of peace. For a minute she did, thinking of him. She remembered his lips against hers, her fingers grazing his bruises, she remembered the first time they danced, the first time they had sex, if she thought hard enough she could just make out his breathless moans against her skin.

It was beautiful. For once, her normally cloudy thoughts suddenly became clear, and she truly believed she was with him, lying in bed with the smell of his cigarettes in the air. Euphoria was so close to her, and she was ready to take it. But just as quick as the moment began, it disappeared at the same rate, her lungs full of water jerking her back to reality. Trying to get out of the tub was like swimming frantically to the surface, and when she finally made it she fell out, fingers down her throat forcing herself to throw up in the toilet.

As she sat on the floor crying, she realized she had to make a change. Her guilt was killing her, no longer slowly, it was almost there. Turning her life around wasn’t going to be easy, but she needed to do it or she was going to die. All those times before when she considered ending it all didn’t compare to actually looking death in the eye, just seconds away from taking her.

She threw out every bottle in her apartment and joined Alcoholics Anonymous, sat in the back of a room in the basement of a church listening to fellow addicts talk about their failures, their successes, their motivations, their goals. She didn’t know what to say when it was finally her turn.

“My name is Sophie and I… I’m an alcoholic. I can’t take it anymore.” The welcome from the crowd would usually embarrass her, but saying it aloud gave her the sense of relief that she craved. She could finally admit that she needed help.

One step at a time, she made change. Going to AA became her center, her calm in the midst of Gotham’s rising chaos. She quit her seedy stripping job and actually got hired as a teller at Gotham Savings Bank. If crime wasn’t at an all-time high, she probably wouldn’t have gotten the job, but she held onto her victories. And despite the challenge to make friends, she never stopped trying. Meeting for coffee with her AA peers, being social at work, little things that felt normal. She embraced normal.

The hardest part of her day was always going back home, being in the constant reminder of him. But she couldn’t afford to move anywhere else, so she had to deal with it the best she could. Decorating her apartment, finally getting a couch, filling her fridge with vegetables, lighting candles, whatever she could think of that made her home feel different than before, she did it. And with time, it worked.

She could finally travel through Gotham’s shitty streets, go into her decaying building, ride the graffiti-filled elevator, and walk down the hallway that used to be theirs to open the door to her apartment and be greeted to a place of ease. No more pain, no more trauma. No more tears. It’s been so long since she knew what that felt like.

One Year Later

The trains are running late—again. It’s always terrible in the mornings, in the midst of everyone trying to get to work by 9 AM. Gotham Savings Bank is boring for the most part, sitting behind a window all day helping various people with deposits and withdrawals, questions about opening accounts and getting credit cards. It’s redundant work, but Sophie doesn’t complain. It could be worse.

She spends her daily commute reading books recommended to her by people at AA. Lately, she’s been into science fiction, the one genre that’s far from real life. She doesn’t like to read the newspapers, nothing but crime, corruption, more crime, more corruption, nothing of value to her. She’s good with her books. 

The bank is noticeably hushed when she enters, her coworkers nowhere to be seen before they open. They're understaffed, but no one is prone to showing up late. “Hello?" No answer. Her brief pang of fear disappears when she walks to the break room and finds them standing around the small television on the counter. “What’s going on?” She asks.

“Joker broke out of Arkham!”

Sophie just barely mumbles _sorry _as she politely pushes through them to see the television. A reporter is standing in front of Arkham State Hospital, police cars and crime scene tape surrounding the entrance.

_“...escaped late last night. It is still unknown how he managed to do so, but it is believed that he had help from outside sources—”_

“His gang got him out!” One of her coworkers says. “They must’ve been planning it for months.”

Sophie’s eyes are still on the screen as they talk amongst themselves, waiting, just waiting for that moment that they show his face, she knows it’s coming—

_“Joker, whose real name is Arthur Fleck, gained notoriety for killing three Wayne Investments businessmen and late-night host Murray Franklin last year. He was committed to Arkham shortly after being arrested, but his actions resulted in a noticeable increase in crime that hasn’t gone down...”_

Then it’s there. A screenshot of him on Murray’s show, the infamous clown makeup painted on his face. That red suit, the green hair. The devilish smile. The bank is about to open, but Sophie excuses herself, heading to the bathroom. She stares into the sink, hands gripping the porcelain. “Don’t cry, Sophie.” She whispers to herself. “Don’t—fuck!” She shuts her eyes, tears betraying her. This can’t happen, not now. Turning the faucet on, she splashes water on her face.

“You’re going to be okay,” she says to herself in the mirror. “Everything is going to be okay.”

News of Joker’s escape spreads quickly through Gotham. The air is noticeably tense, customers hardly entering the bank and if they do, they rush out when they’re finished. With the unconfirmed but almost certain rumors of his following of criminals rallying behind him now that he’s out, no one wants to spend any longer than they have to in areas ripe for attack. Suddenly her bank job seems like a mistake. There was always a possibility that it could happen, but it’s guaranteed now that he’s out.

She’s distracted for the rest of her shift, the thought of him lingering in her mind on the train while she heads to her weekly AA meeting. He’s unsurprisingly the topic of discussion among her peers before the session starts, most expressing fear over how worse Gotham is going to get.

“I don’t think the city can recover if they riot again,” someone says. “We’re still trying to move on from the first one.”

Sophie needs to leave. The longer she stays outside, the stronger his presence is, just knowing that everyone is thinking, fearing the same thing. His influence is undeniable. He has the city terrified and he hasn’t even started yet.

When she finally gets home, she avoids looking at the door that used to be his. Arthur’s. She hasn’t thought of that name in a long time, hearing the reporter say it brought back a flood of memories. Memories she worked so hard to move on from, memories from the lowest point of her life. It takes everything in her not to kick off her shoes, get a blanket and sit on the couch to watch the nightly news. She doesn’t want to know anything, forces herself not to. She can’t let him consume her again.

And yet, he still finds a way. With every siren, every flash of red and blue, every scream and shout, she looks nervously at her window, unable to tell if she’s just being paranoid or if the impact of his escape is already in effect, Gotham descending to total hell once more.

A week goes by and nothing happens. Nothing, meaning, he didn’t strike yet. All crime is minor compared to what he’s going to do. It’s only a matter of time, they keep saying. Her coworkers, her peers at AA, random people on the street. She’s sure the media is saying the same thing too. He has Gotham in the palm of his hand, its citizens waiting for the moment he squeezes them past their breaking point. It would be a great time to leave the city. But Sophie is defiant, refusing to bend. It’s a silly mindset, maybe even reckless, but she’s determined.

She gets home later than usual due to her AA meeting. The elevator stops, for the third time this week, and she promises herself she’ll take the stairs next time. Walking to the eighth floor is never fun, but getting stuck in a half-functioning elevator is worse. As she makes her way down the hallway of her floor, she pauses when she notices something in front of her door.

A single rose. When she steps closer, she notices that there’s a note attached. Sophie turns, looking around, wondering if she’s being pranked or if someone misdelivered it. But as she picks up the rose and unfolds the note, a familiar sense of unease creeps through her, an unease that she hasn’t felt in a long time.

_Go to the roof._

His handwriting. She could never forget it, messy and hardly readable. Her vision starts to get hazy, like the world’s turning upside down. She stares at the door of her apartment, debating whether to go inside and pretend she didn’t read it. Then what? He’ll know if she does. He’ll break in and get her. Will he? Maybe. Likely. She doesn’t know.

The rose feels heavy in her hand, its crimson red reminding her of blood, and at once, everything comes back to her. Memories of pain and betrayal and lies and heartbreak. He’s already gotten under her skin and she hasn’t even seen him yet. Sophie turns her head, looking at the far end of the hallway where the emergency exit is located. The only way to get to the roof.

As she makes her way up the stairs, she realizes how silent her surroundings are. No yelling from neighbors, no dogs barking, no babies crying. It’s as if time paused for just this moment. The door to the roof is cracked open. She pushes against it, wind whipping her face as she steps outside. A figure is standing near the edge. Her heart beats faster the closer she gets to him, her breathing uneven. And when he finally turns around, she stops.

Same red suit. Same green hair. Same painted face. Same cigarette between his lips. They stare at each other, still steps away from being face to face. She can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but look at him. The night of the riots plays back to her in vivid detail, everything leading up to that fateful moment standing amid chaos.

_Please. I love you, Arthur. I can still see you. You’re crying._

_Call me Joker._

“Joker,” she says, her voice small. Calling him by his name for the first time hurts. She just wants to wipe off all that makeup and see Arthur’s face again, but it won’t make any difference. Arthur’s gone. He died a long time ago. “Why did you come here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

Sophie turns her head, looking away from him. Hearing his voice only reminds her of Arthur. Even with the added confidence, the lack of shakiness, she can still picture him. She never forgot his face, even with no photos, she always remembered. She closes her eyes, trying to fight the tears. It’s no use.

“I have to go, I shouldn’t be here.”

He says nothing, waiting for her to make the move.

And yet, she doesn’t. She stands still, staring ahead at anything but him. With every second she stays near him, her progress over the year declines. Working so hard to fix herself, building walls around those painful memories, they’re slowly crumbling. She should leave, everything she learned at AA would tell her to leave, but she can’t. She just can’t.

“You wanted to see me,” she starts. “Why?”

“I thought about you a lot in Arkham.”

Sophie lets out a sob, covering her mouth, embarrassed that he’s already breaking her like this. “Don’t tell me that. Please.” She wishes he was mean, wishes he would be awful to her. Anything degrading would be better than hearing him say that. Kindness from him is like a knife to her heart.

“Why didn’t you leave Gotham?”

“Where was I going to go? I had no one except—” Sophie stops herself, she can’t say his name. She takes a breath, trying to calm herself down. “I’m stuck here. I don’t have a choice.”

“It’s only going to get worse.”

“No shit. You broke out. Gotham’s just waiting for you and your gang to strike.”

He chuckles. Hearing that laugh again...it takes her right back to watching his appearance on Murray’s show. Controlled. Ominous. Evil. It’s suffocating her. “My gang…is that what you think of me?”

Sophie doesn’t say anything, looking down at the rose. Such a beautiful gesture for someone consumed in darkness. She doesn’t know what to think of him. He flicks his cigarette to the ground, stepping on it. “I’m going to make Gotham mine, Sophie. That’s why I’m here. I wanted you to know.”

Her eyes finally meet his, and he steps closer, the gap between them getting smaller.

“Why did you want me to know?”

His hand reaches out, a finger wiping a tear from her face. She closes her eyes, letting herself welcome his warmth. If she thinks hard enough, she can imagine Arthur doing the same. His love, his pain, she feels it all. For just a moment, she’s in the presence of the man she fell in love with. Sophie looks at him again, their eyes locking once more before she forces herself to step back. She needs to leave. She can’t do this. Not again. He doesn’t stop her, watching her as the distance between them increases. Right when she reaches the door, he calls her name. She pauses, debating with herself. Leave. Stay. Let this be the last time. See what he wants. Don't do this to yourself again. Don't do it. Don't.

She turns to face him. He smiles.

“I’ll see you around.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I CANNOT thank you guys enough for all the kudos, comments, hits, bookmarks, everything that I got while writing this. It's been such a joy working on this story, I can't say it enough but I'm beyond happy that there are people out there who love Sophie and Arthur's relationship as much as I do! I've had some questions about whether or not I'm going to continue their story and honestly.........I love them together so much that I really want to do it. Halfway through writing this, I was already bouncing around with ideas. I don't know where those ideas will go, whether it'll be another story or maybe a couple of one-shots but you guys let me know if you really want to see some kind of continuation and I'll see what I can do. Again, THANK YOU! <3


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